


She's A Work of Art

by gratefulsugar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Rated for Sexuality and Colorful Language, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-07-08 05:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15923822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gratefulsugar/pseuds/gratefulsugar
Summary: Draco Malfoy prided himself on his ability to acknowledge and appreciate beauty in all its forms, especially his beloved risqué portraits. The chestnut-haired girl is his new favorite, yet she looks awfully familiar... Hermione just returned from an intriguing summer full of enlightenment. She's called it quits with Ronald and her new look is turning heads. 7th Year AU non-canon





	1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer:**  I own nothing, you all know this. Cut me some slack. It simply brings me joy.

 **AN** : Yes, I know. I should really be working on Teacher's Pet or The Secrets of Minds. WELL, it's too late.

So that nobody gets confused, pretend this is similar to my AU in The Secrets of Minds. It's a 7th year AU setting where everything after the Triwizard Tournament is non-canon, EXCEPT Cedric never died and Voldemort's plans never came to fruition, so basically it's as if everyone ended up living life without the threat of the Dark Lord or his rise of power hanging over them. It's as if they could have spent their last years at Hogwarts relatively normal. Fair warning: I don't have tooo much of a plot designed for this but I got some things planned and as I'm writing I get more ideas so fear not. It won't be all nonsense lol

 **Caution:**  this is a reasonably naughty story with lots of colorful language.

Thank you for reading!

 **She's A Work of Art**  
**Chapter One  
** -~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _Malfoy Manor, August 9_ _th_ _1997_

Draco Malfoy prided himself on his ability to acknowledge and appreciate beauty in all its forms. Being born pureblood, especially if you were a Malfoy, meant being raised to understand the importance of outside appearance. One's childhood often consisted of honing a great awareness of what looking good and dressing well means and how to properly take care of one's self.

As was also vital to a pureblood's livelihood is a heretically imbedded love for the arts; colorful and grandeur, mesmerizing oil paintings of any size with intricately splayed details of people and landscapes, the eye-catching, clean-cut sculptures made of the most breathtaking rare stone, marble or crystal, all the pottery and china teapots, even drawings and sketches. The list of admired mediums is never ending.

However, there was a particular genre of art that Draco had always favorited, and although it was somewhat of a guilty pleasure, the paintings he'd placed in his room were of excellent taste so his parents had never disapproved (although his mother eyed him most peculiarly when he'd bought the first one). Adjourning his walls were magical portraits of ethereal, goddess-like women with varied individual looks, sensually lounging or moving about in elegance, comfortable in their own setting. They gazed with smiling, playful bedroom eyes and the flesh of their curvy, feminine figures was often delightfully exposed, a wanton display of desirable, half-naked nymphs.

Waking from a cat-nap after a long morning at the Ministry apprenticing for his father, he pondered all this. His collection of nude portraits had reached a record high, outnumbering all other types of wall-decorations and after counting one by one he established that he had twenty-nine of them. 'Well, that just won't do,' his inner obsessive- compulsiveness sprang forth. 'Better make it thirty then!' He was starting to think he may have procured a serious problem, but that wasn't going to stop him yet.

Before he knew it, he found himself using the Floo Network, stepping straight into his fireplace and arriving at his spoken destination: the quiet but mischievous, rag-tag magical community of Crique de Bouleau Argente', or Silver Birch Cove, a village in Nouvelle-Aquitaine France, off the coast of the Bay of Biscay which is not far from Spain. Draco dusted himself off after landing in popular hotspot Claude's Café and found himself a seat, eager for an early evening pick-me-up before heading to the next shop.

A petite girl in her early teens wearing a form-fitting dress and apron approached him tentatively. "Bonsoir, Monsieur Malfoy," she lightly greeted with a smile. He couldn't help but notice how a gradual blush tainted her cheeks the longer she observed him. "What is it I may get for you today?" she spoke in French but he could understand for obviously the Malfoy's spoke the language fluently. This wasn't one of his parent's favorite regions of France, they preferred the North-coast for that's where their blood heritage apparently originated, but this quaint, fun-loving town was the best thing Draco stumbled across on his quest for nude portraits, and he frequently came here the last couple of summers as an escape from how mundane he wished his life wasn't.

"Bonjour, Eloise, trouble you for a large coffee, just a dash of milk?" he asked her charmingly in the native language and showcased his notoriously attractive smirk. Her cheeks reddened further and she nodded before scampering away like a good little worker mouse. Eloise was a pretty young witch who attended Beauxbatons and clearly she was smitten with him but Draco wasn't interested in younger girls. He preferred older women and witches his own age. He was seventeen now, after all. Eloise was only fourteen or fifteen so sadly for her, any ideas of being with him were not going to happen.

After his much needed coffee break he gave Eloise a hefty tip and headed for the gallery.

This was not your typical art gallery that you might find in a heavily populated muggle city, no. Besides the fact it was full of magical artworks, artifacts and portraits, it was inherently owned and run by a well-known wizarding gypsy family, the Negrescu's, a rowdy, black-haired bunch who were knowledgeable and handy in many subjects and pseudo-subjects. The shop was, in essence, eccentrically decorated in exactly the sort of eclectic styles that would without a doubt ring Professor Trelawney's quirky bells. There were even a few crystal balls. Yes, Divination heaven. If Theo and Blaise could see him now, they'd surely laugh their heads off.

Once Madam Negrescu spotted Draco perusing a shelf of handmade ornate mortars and pestles, she wasted no time in bringing her most favorite client over to see one of their newer additions, an enormous canvas magnificently painted with one of the most captivating nymphs he'd so far laid eyes on. She had big doe eyes that were a sort of deep, toasty cinnamon with flecks of amber gold shining around her irises. Her smile was soft, her pouty lips timidly turned upwards to form a small dimple above, introducing a decadent array of freckles, dusted ever so lightly across her nose and cheeks like grated chocolate. If you could even get past how adorable her face looked, you could see the freckles continued down her neck and décolletage and below a pair of round, pert breasts bounced teasingly beneath silky sheaths of ultra-long curls which were the most pleasing shade of tawny chestnut. What you could see of her tanned, honey-kissed skin glistened in the sunny daylight. The grassy landscape rolled into meadows leading up to a dense forest in the background and a babbling creek flowing from center front and up into the woods. She stared at him adoringly with those glittering eyes, giving him a wink, and adjusted the light-weight, Greek inspired robe in her lap, making herself more at ease on the green earth.

Strangely enough to him, the siren in this portrait oddly reminded him of someone but couldn't right away put his finger on it and never bothered to think of it after that. The painting was too entrancing to walk away from so without looking at any others he swiftly made his purchase and went back to the café.

So, for the remainder of the summer holiday, when Draco would sit in his room he would admire all of his beautiful paintings, but he wouldn't stop going over to that last one; the bright-eyed chestnut-haired girl with freckles. She had this way about her that he had difficulty getting out of his mind. The supple curves of her body made his cock twitch. Draco knew she wasn't a real girl. Most of these women were based off of unrealistic ideals and fantasies and were almost never a portrait that had been posed for… but then again, you never know. If she did exist and was out there somewhere, he prayed to whatever Gods were listening that he never stray from the path that leads to this dream woman.

The afternoon before he'd be returning to school there was a stern rapping at the door, and then, "Draco, darling, it's your mother,"

"Come in," he replied without looking up from his book but once she entered he saved his page with a bookmark and closed it. Narcissa was silent, eyes browsing over his walls as she strode forward. It seemed she could not choose one particular thing to look at, especially not her son, her gaze darting from painting to painting. Draco was beginning to lose his patience. "Is there something you wanted, mother?" he pressed lightly.

He watched her eyes narrow at his passive aggression, clipped words on the tip her tongue and still looking anywhere but him. Suddenly, it became apparent that his mother noticed the ginormous new addition to the wall across from his bed when she almost staggered towards it, her dress robes awkwardly shuffling. Her brief look of pained horror mollified after a moment when she had to convince herself that any suspicions of the sort were utterly unimaginable, laughable even. She wasn't even sure why she began to get worried over such a ridiculous notion in the first place. The girl in the portrait couldn't possibly be  _her_.

Narcissa almost jumped out of her skin when her nimble son snuck up behind her. "Are you alright, mum?" he rarely ever used the shortened endearment, saving it only for special moments. He didn't exactly like her eyeballing his beloved art with such disdain but he hadn't meant to startle her, and although it was slightly amusing to see his put-together socialite mother lose her sense of wits he was now realizing she legitimately might not be well. So she wouldn't fall over he gently grasped her shoulder, mildly distracted by the epiphany of how tall he really was when standing next to someone so dainty. "Sorry, I-"

"Draco," she interrupted quickly, finally turning to look him face to face. "I can understand that you're a young man now. You've undeniably grown up, too expeditiously for a mother's heart if I may, but you've grown well. You are all at once a most strapping, promising and dignified wizard bachelor and I couldn't be more excited for your future…" she trailed off.  _'What are you getting at here, mother,'_ he wondered.

"Even though I'm not to be Head Boy?" he quizzed her dryly, secretly begging for verbal ratification, the maternal and paternal validation that he was still loved, praised, and believed in despite his alleged imperfections. A tiny smile played along her red-stained lips.

"You'll have plenty more extra time for all of your other school work  _without_  the never-ending agglomeration of Head Boy duties hanging over your shoulders. It is still very honorable to be chosen as a Prefect. Third in your class,  _first_  in Slytherin is nothing to scoff at." She paused, peering warmly up at him. It did not get past Narcissa that Draco was hoping for some perspective, perhaps a little reassurance that his father would get over himself and make amends. Weeks prior, they received the highly-anticipated, annual Hogwarts welcome letter which brought with it the bubble-bursting news that Anthony Goldstein, a Ravenclaw half-blood had bested his pureblood son by a mere couple of points and thus was anointed Head Boy instead. Upon learning that Draco would not be walking in his footsteps Lucius became enraged; years of built-up, residual stress, his own unspoken failures, insecurities, and self-hate inescapably spilling over for the first time. Holding nothing back of his distaste and disappointment, he made it abundantly clear that his only son and heir should feel lucky he wasn't deliberately disowned and if Draco didn't prove himself this upcoming year, he would be exiled from the Manor without hesitation. The man also verbalized it hadn't helped the situation that Draco's long-time academic rival Hermione Granger, a Gryffindor "mudblood", had surpassed the entire school yet again and that Draco should know how pathetic it is that he'll be forced to take orders and answer to the filth beneath them.

Draco had made no comment, for he hadn't spoken a word as his father barreled into him with vicious snarls brimmed full with unobtainable, unrealistic ideations of sinners, shortcomings and blood purity. His garbled voice still echoed over and over in his mind, the broken words of a lunatic.

"Your father will come around eventually, Draco," she began. Draco rolled his eyes but said nothing, intent to listen. "Don't let him disrupt your thoughts too much, love. Use his misplaced anger to fuel the fire behind your studies." Narcissa smiled up at him encouragingly. "I have faith in you, my mighty dragon." He returned her smile appreciatively, believing her words. He felt thankful, for it seemed that the conversation was coming to an end. His hopes were dashed when she abruptly rounded on him with an attitude she no doubt suppressed during the duration of their heart-to-heart. "And I know you keep going back to that filthy town, the one full of those greasy gypsy  _trollops_  and  _tramps_. I asked you to stay away from there, and that family!" she waved her arms around with authority, her tone snappy as she lamented around his bed chambers. "With the extensive amount of purchases you've blessed them with I'd be put out to know they're still carrying on, living like savages! Surely, they'd have no trouble affording a more suitable lifestyle…"

"Mother, please!" he was almost laughing. Draco wasn't offended so much as he was annoyed. He knew the sole reason she even brought it all up was because of her wariness of his growing art collection. He stared at her with a bemused expression, his eyes requesting her to elaborate by vocalizing to him what was truly bothering her. "Is it… is it the portraits? Do they make you uncomfortable?"

Narcissa kept her head down, twiddling her thumbs as she worked out the proper way she should address her concerns. "It's just…" she began. She looked up at him, now wringing her hands in trepidation. She was fidgeting so much and he reasoned that it must be as difficult for a mother to confront her son on sexual matters as it must be for a father to have to talk to his daughter in the same way. "Draco, what I was trying to say earlier is that I understand you're a man now, a man who likes what he likes; a man who has needs. I can't disapprove of this art because well, that's what it is: art. And besides, just because I'm your mother doesn't mean I get to dictate how you want to decorate your bedroom, not any longer. You're of-age, it's only right."

Draco was not sure what he was expecting, he'd been dreading this specific confrontation the moment Narcissa found out about his wanton interests. He definitely didn't bet on her being so supportive. "Thank you mother," he exclaimed sincerely, feeling relieved.

"I want to say one more thing," she let out a breath she'd been holding. He nodded, waiting for her to continue. "As the woman who gave birth to you I feel it is my responsibility after coming to know your… tastes," she grimaced, looking similar to a baby nibbling on a bitter lemon for the first time. "To put my wisdom out there," she brazenly grabbed him by the arm with maternal desperation and he tried not to reveal how frightened she'd just made him. "Draco, heed my words: beauty is special and to be appreciated sure, but beauty is only as deep as the skin." She gestured up towards the painting of the chestnut-haired girl. "A gorgeous exterior means nothing if she doesn't have a gorgeous soul to go with it. Don't let a shallow beauty blind you from truth. This is all I ask Draco." Then she signaled to all the other portraits, pointing to one on the adjacent wall and waving her arms around theatrically. "It is alright to want to be with attractive women but don't let a woman's appearance be the only thing that matters to you. Do you understand what I'm saying, sweet dragon?"

Draco in fact, knew exactly what she was saying. He wished she didn't have to say it at all. He understood perfectly well how she felt and what she was implying. Narcissa was simply worried that her precious son was growing up to be an inane, vacant-braine misogynistic creep. Well, he might have to agree he felt more than a little creepy sometimes, but in his defense he  _was_  a hormonal, young male with natural inhibitions. And sadly, at one time he  _had_  been a chauvinistic bigot. Salazar be damned, though, if he was going to let his mother keep on thinking that way, and right then he promised himself that some way or another he'd prove to her he wasn't becoming what she thought… if he didn't go mad before then.

It wasn't until he boarded the Hogwarts Express for his seventh and final year that he ever had to actually question his sanity, in which he concluded that yes, he'd certainly be a permanent resident at St. Mungo's by Christmas.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

_Hogwarts Express, September 1st_

"How was your holiday, Hermione?" the dreamy, lullaby-like voice of Luna Lovegood gently brought the recently appointed Head Girl out of her myriad of thoughts. She ought to be thanking the offbeat but pleasant blonde-haired Ravenclaw, for Hermione had been drowning in them. She and a few of her closest comrades sat in a cabin on the train to their first day of their last year at Hogwarts. The only notable absences were that of Harry and Ron, who'd earlier found a lousy excuse to leave the cabin.

Tensions were running high with the recent, unfortunate break up between Hermione and the latter. Ronald just wasn't doing it for Hermione anymore. He couldn't keep up, intellectually or romantically. The youngest Weasley brother had, at a young age, once captured her heart but that was a long time ago, puppy-love, and things had epically changed. She was getting older, older than most of her classmates and she decided she was finally through with Ron's childish temper and arrogant thoughtlessness. It wasn't her job to deal with him, take care of him and constantly finish his homework for him. Hermione was only enabling him at this point, hindering him from the ability to grow as a person.

He'd get over it, find someone else. Loads of witches lusted after the red-head, he should have no trouble. If he couldn't remain friends with her over it then there was nothing she could do about that. Hopefully one day he'd move on and forgive but she also hadn't reckoned losing Harry in the cross-fires and it was causing  _her_  to feel resentful.

"It was excellent Luna, truly," the girl gazed at her with crystal blue eyes that sparkled with curiosity and Hermione bit her bottom lip, which was quickly becoming a little habit of hers. Deciding she would socialize for a bit, as was considered a healthy activity for a witch of her age, she closed her personal organizer. "Actually, I visited many places with my parents and cousins. I learned quite a lot and we had a wondrous time."

"Fascinating!" she replied. "What sorts of places did you and your family travel to?"

"Well, we- "

"They went to Japan! Can you believe it?" Ginny Weasley all but squealed in the seat next to Hermione. "I saw the photographs! Hermione you must show her sometime." Before the Head Girl could answer however, Ginny kept blabbing. "They also went to Prague, Germany, Italy and Greece too!"

"Yes,  _thank you_  Ginevra. That pretty much covers it." Hermione inwardly face palmed.

"Hermione your  _hair_ ," Hannah Abbot chimed in. She was sitting beside Luna and Neville Longbottom was beside her. "Really, I can't take my eyes off you!" the Hufflepuff exclaimed. Hermione instinctively wanted to hide in her turtle shell but remembered the insight she had gained on her travels. She reminded herself of the powerful, amazing witch she was, to give herself more credit and her confidence coolly glided her mindset back into place. She shouldn't be afraid to enter the spotlight here or there.

_Don't forget to stay humble._

"Thanks Hannah,"

"Seriously though, how did you achieve so much length in such a short amount of time? It's even longer than Luna's, if possible! And it looks so healthy! Is it your real hair?" the girl persisted and Hermione sniggered.

"Yes, technically it's real but I did sort of cheat to get the look," she admitted. "A band of wizarding gypsies whom I met in Greece, blessed me with the knowledge of a special hair-lengthening technique… I could teach it to you all sometime if you'd like!"

All of the witches nodded vigorously.

It was true. Her brown locks were miles longer than ever before. She'd serendipitously tried out the gypsy's methods and loved the results, not caring how drastic of a change it had been. Not only had Hermione's demeanor, attitude and confidence in her own self improve immensely but it was safe to say her looks did as well. Other notable differences included how her bosoms had become fuller yet still perky, her hips had grown much wider, and her bum perhaps a tad larger and rounder. No longer was she that bucktoothed, bushy-haired bint from her adolescent days. She was a woman now, a theory she'd like to believe anyway. She was not usually keen on showing off her body, but something bewildering had ignited inside of her this year, a willful, burning of embers fueled by a sudden urge that stirred deep within her abdomen. Hermione wanted to be attractive for once, she wanted to be noticed and she hated to admit it but her hormones were raging and she wanted badly the touch of another person. Not Ronald though, no. Hermione had quickly found out that he did not have what it took to fully please her when she realized neither his kisses nor his touch could make her feel anything special.

And although she was in no rush, this year she was secretly hoping on finding someone who met the criteria, someone who showered her in affection but it couldn't be just anyone. Hermione longed for passion, for a true spiritual connection but she would not seek it forthright. She would trust the journey and wait for her dream man to come to her, if he was meant to.

Letting fate take the wheel, she relaxed in her seat and channeled a mellow and level-headed vibe, which she'd come to perfect, breathing calmly and just going with the flow. Her aura had practically lulled everyone in the cabin to a warm and fuzzy sedated state. She smiled. With her new energy influencing skills this year was going to be interesting. She could help so many people depending on their emotional affliction and if they were mentally open to it,  _and_  if she was lucky enough to find a perfect match, she could finally try and utilize the tantric elemental abilities she'd read about for an experience that if done correctly can blow both of their minds.

The first step on that particular agenda was more or less common sense; make a genuine connection with someone you're attracted to who has a soul that aligns well with yours. If both partners are spiritually tuned in the intense friction of your souls crashing together and your bodies moving in tandem should create electric waves of a type of sonic magic, the desired result that sends yourselves over the edge in ways completely indescribable. This type of magic didn't really have a name. It wasn't exactly magic in the first place, rather a key to heightened awareness of all natural elements and energy.

In simpler terms, it sounded as if it was although very magical, a naturally-occurring phenomenon strictly possible by the love-making between soul mates and Hermione's curiosity and intrigue were going to be the death of her.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

It was time for the awaited Prefect's meeting as the locomotor was getting closer and closer to its destination. Draco was walking down the corridor towards the end of the train. He was on his own since Tracey Davis, his Slytherin Prefect partner said she'd be heading there after she caught up with Blaise. The two were a couple, and had been in a relationship since February. "Traisey" as the pair was dubbed, was so far a successful and agreeable corroboration.

He was going to be a bit early but he no longer felt like sitting still. The gathering was taking place in the South Suite which was only a fancy-ish name for the rear cabin at the caboose. It was much larger with enough space to fit the entire counsel of mandatory students. There were snacks, drinks and other accommodations as well, so it wasn't something to be completely dreaded but still, Draco was never the type to love a crowd unless the crowd was cheering his name. Snake that he was, the Slytherin Seeker was inherently an introverted individual who relished in moments of solitude and preferred to work independently. Being a Prefect meant giving up most of those moments and also frequently having to work in teams. He'd adapted well though after two years of experience.

Perhaps it was his subtle disinterest and unwillingness for these sorts of menial, day to day tasks that in the end lost him the Head Boy badge and if that was so then Draco wasn't even upset when he was just being true to himself. Honestly, unlike his father it was not his cup of tea. At one time he thought it was his life's purpose. He couldn't give a damn about being Head Boy anymore especially after how off-kilter Lucius became over it. Sure, being the Head Boy would have looked great as a credential, but Prefect wasn't so bad either. His grades were still exceedingly impressive, to everyone but his father anyway and Draco would do his best to maintain and improve his marks, even try to win the stupid house cup and some Quidditch games and then maybe the man might actually be proud of his son  _for once in his life._

He slid open the door to the South Suite a little more roughly than he'd meant to and the sight before him had him stunned to the spot. All of the blood drained from his body and he suddenly felt faint as he balked there in the doorway. He resisted the urge to rub at his eyes… was he dreaming? Standing a beat away was his chestnut-haired girl, with her perfect freckles and glowing bronzed skin. It was! It was her!

"Malfoy…?" her firm but feminine voice called to him, concern etched in her features.

Realization dawned on him as he stared mystified into the toasty-cinnamon eyes belonging to Hermione fucking Granger.

"Gr-Granger?" he stuttered, unable to contain his outright astonishment. "You-you…" Draco had to get it together before he really humiliated himself. He shook his head, running his hand through his silvery locks. He tried to shrug it off, play it cool. "You surprised me, is all." he used his familiar drawl with nonchalance.

She glared at him unconvinced and slightly irritated at his sudden, early arrival but also taken aback and puzzled by his confusing actions. Why had he looked like that? Why had he looked like he… was seeing her for the first time? "Evidently," she sassed him, a pink flush wandering its way up her neck.

He quirked an eyebrow and gave her a look, buying himself a moment to let himself feel the shock that was still washing over him.  _'Hermione damn Granger, nothing ever gets past this girl,'_  he thought pitying himself, but she pretended to ignore him as she shuffled a stack of papers together neatly and started searching through another.

' _This girl…'_

Draco watched her in bewilderment, at first transfixed by the small crease between her brows as she focused on skimming over words to find what she was looking for. Her freckles were glorious, like brown sugar splattered stars that made up the dotted constellations on a creamy, sun-kissed complexion that was authentically hers. Her plush lower lip was twinged fig red from the light pressure of habitual, nervous biting and he found himself wanting to smother her mouth with his own. He was trying so very hard to remember who he was looking at but it wasn't working very well. She was no longer who he thought she was and he couldn't un-see it now…

"Here you are," she handed over an assembled bundle of papers designated to him, seemingly unaware of his dilemmas. "I've made everyone copies of the usual requirements, protocols, schedules, list of events among other things."

"Thanks," he muttered. Draco continued to observe her as she breathed deeply and reached her arms above her head in a long stretch. He noted she had not yet donned her robes and as the hem of her blouse levitated upwards he was delightfully granted with a generous view of her attractive tummy. The sensual curves of her hips were a sight worth doing a double-take for and as she turned, bending forward to touch her toes he couldn't help his hungry eyes as they ate up the sight of her bouncy bum in those form-fitting cigarette pants. Hermione then rolled her body all the way up, relaxing her shoulders and aligning her spine. Her wild, yet somehow silkier-looking, long tawny curls flew every which way as she sprung up, determination in her gaze and Draco was right then convinced he was in the presence of a natural-born goddess of the earth.

' _This woman…'_  he corrected himself, but didn't even finish the sentence in his mind for she'd caught him staring at her again and hopelessly he was rendered speechless like a complete moron. Just as she opened her pretty mouth to question him the Head Boy and several students entered to join them, signifying that the minutes went by and it was now time for the Prefects to get serious and begin the meeting.

Of course, Draco could barely pay attention to a word. He was serious about something alright, but it definitely wasn't his Prefect duties.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 **AN:**  Cheers to you all for reading! Next chapter coming soon! And with a less incoherent Draco! :0)


	2. Chapter Two

**AN:**  I want to give a huge thanks to my reviewers and followers! It really means the world to feel so encouraged to keep doing what I love doing. It may be a strange story but the words are a part of me and it's a hell of a lot of fun to write so I'll never stop. Thank you all for the love and good vibes. Life's a garden, dig it.

 **She's A Work of Art**  
**Chapter Two**  
-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _Hogwarts Castle, 7_ _th_ _Floor, September 1_ _st_ _, 1997_

Hermione sat in her Head Girl chambers in Gryffindor Tower rereading  _Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean_ , one of the main Herbology textbooks. It was an informative tome she enjoyed perusing many times before yet right then she could not for the life of her register the words in front of her. Yes, her physical body may have left but her mind was still very much back in the South Suite, caught up in the odd events that took place during the Prefect's meeting.

It had all started when Draco Malfoy appeared, having slammed open the sliding door to the cabin and giving her a slight fright. The disruption had been somewhat vexing in itself but what was incredibly more maddening was when his eyes widened right away with his irises shrinking to pins, and his mouth fell open as he stood there like he was paralyzed by the sight of her. She felt a bit worried, thinking maybe he'd been cursed or hexed. She'd called out his name and watched as he doubled backwards, only then seeming to realize who she was. He stumbled over his words, unable to form a sentence until he gained his composure. Hermione had studied his every move but tried not to let on she was that perceptive.

As she looked through the papers and then handed him his own stack, Draco had practically drank in the image of her like she was a tall glass of water and he'd never been so thirsty. He was trying so very hard to hide it at the time but Hermione was certain she could feel the crackle of electric sexual tension in the air and she couldn't fucking believe it.

Draco Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin and vile git that he was… well ahem, the  _usually_ _very_ vile git that he was, was uh, not really like that anymore was he? He'd been so quiet, so pensive, save for his startling entrance and blatant leering. He'd made no attempt at a normal chastise or sideways remark. Nothing of the sort, in fact during the meeting and after only ten minutes of light glaring at her she noticed his expression suddenly soften and his cool icy exterior melted into something warmer,  _much_  warmer.

As if he'd found resolve, she saw his storm-cloud grey eyes flicker and brighten with what looked like appreciation for the subject of his attention: her. His jaw relaxed and she saw the corners of his mouth turn upwards into a gentle smirk. There were moments when he hadn't looked away, and she found herself unable to either.

Previously, Hermione had never  _ever_ let herself acknowledge the attractiveness of the Malfoy heir. Not only was he traditionally not her type (she preferred dark haired men), but he was always so, so…  _himself_. Years prior he'd been exceedingly smarmy and dishonest, chauvinistic and downright racist at times. Rarely had he shown much of any redeemable qualities except for every year he'd kept up with her in grades, right on her tail in each class which was something that always surprised her. He'd been someone who once was so narrow-minded and cruel; an aristocratic bully who'd hated her guts for years, at least in the beginning. Since fifth year he'd never paid her any neither mind, attention nor time unless it had to do with Prefect duties or classes.

He'd barely ever spared her a genuine glance their entire education…

And yet there he'd been, giving her looks and drinking her in like she was a rich oasis in a dry desert, licking and biting at his perfect, heart-shaped lips which instinctively made her do the same, worsening her already acquired lip-biting habit. In that moment during the meeting as Anthony Goldstein droned on and on, Hermione dared herself to see what she'd always pretended was not there.

Draco had grown so  _tall_ , and despite his typical refined pureblood poise and nature he appeared more rugged, more mysterious. The Slytherin's infamous silver-blonde tresses were uncharacteristically messy, sticking up a few places in reckless abandon. It was longer, skimming above his light eyebrows, one of which had a scar, a faded line from where the skin split and she'd never noticed it (and quite curious to know the story behind such a gash). His locks fell over and around his ears flawlessly framing his face. That face, with its exquisitely cut jawline and snow white complexion, with that Adam's apple tenuously bobbing in his throat, gulping anxiously as his eyes burned into her with raging flames, blue hot as the sea of desire. It had made the dull ache between her thighs kindle with the embers of a new kind of fire.

Hermione wasn't stupid,  _obviously_. She assumed his behavior was the result of how great she'd been looking recently and the alluring aura of her improved confidence. Apparently it seemed he'd just discovered for himself something new, something he liked. At first it appeared to have angered him when he'd been glaring, probably upset that he was attracted to  _her_  of all people, the muggleborn swot Hermione Granger but then he got over that and settled on a different attitude. The reality of it was overwhelming to her but it was also inexorably exciting.

As intriguing as the notion sounded, she couldn't ignore how scared she felt by the initial thought of potentially shagging Draco Malfoy. The man oozed sensuality, yes but his soul was dripping with danger. He was known as the big bad wolf of Slytherin house (ferret in some cases) and Hermione reasoned she should for now cautiously proceed with her lion's claws bared and at the ready, just until she could feel out his true intentions, get to know him and his plans.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

_The Dungeons_

Down in the Slytherin Common Room the seventh year snakes sat mingling amicably, having not seen much of each other all summer. However, Draco wasn't really listening. Stuck inside his mind's eye was the memory of Hermione Granger's blushing and bemused expression as she quietly assessed him during the Prefect's meeting.

Gods, he'd been so angry at first. He couldn't fathom how he'd managed to out of nowhere learn he had the hots for Granger. Had he had the hots for her subconsciously the whole time? Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind had he always detested her and become repulsed by the thought of her, not because she was actually dirty or beneath him but because of his strict blood purity values growing up?

Did he go out of his way to push her around and put her down because he intuitively knew it would never work out, that he could never really be with her? The fact of the matter was, with her heightened wits, intellectuality and lovely, charming features she could potentially be his perfect match and not only just, the woman was infuriatingly better than him in every way. It was not what his father had taught him and his younger self hated her for it, not that he would have admitted any of this, not to himself, not back then. Draco simply acted as if she was some sort of pariah for as long as he knew her, never once wanted to see her in a different light.

He'd processed this standing in the meeting and he vaguely remembered Tracey Davis staring at him quizzically for his weird behavior. Tracey was a highly observant witch with a logical mind and she could read people well, as were most Slytherin's prerogatives. She must have seen his emotional struggle, sensed it all even. At the time he hadn't exactly noticed her acknowledgment of his actions and he wasn't exactly sure how obvious he had looked, especially when he'd decided to let go of his anger and try to embrace the idea of… what  _did_  he want with Granger?

Well yes, Draco wanted what any ordinary wizard of seventeen wanted when presented with his dream witch, his dream witch who undoubtedly would be a huge challenge to solve. She was an enigma of a woman, but with the sexiest brain and body in all of Hogwarts, in his opinion. This was a challenge he absolutely could not refuse.

So there, he could admit to himself he wanted to shag the living daylights out of Hermione Granger, Gryffindor's Princess. Was that it? Or did he…?

As Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass shared a laugh about something Draco missed, his glazed eyes cleared up like fog retreating on a window and he snapped to the present. Pansy of course spied his arrival back to reality from her peripherals beside him and turned with the intent to interrogate.

The thing with him and Pansy was that whatever they'd shared before sizzled out at the end of fifth year. She'd been head over heels for him since they met in Florean Fortescue's at eleven, but after two years of a relationship (they started dating at the end of third year) they'd come to a mutual agreement and understanding that they were no longer in tune with one another and it was too hard to want to keep trying when they were starting to not like each other very much at all. Since then they'd ironically grown closer as comrades and at this point she was just considered one of his best mates.

Before Pansy could begin to question him however Daphne called out to the whole group, getting everyone's attention. "Tracey heard from the rumor mill that Gryffindors Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had an epic split. Tracey, do tell?" Draco didn't move an inch, he didn't even breathe.

"Why does  _everything_  you say sound ridiculous like that, like you're Rita Skeeter sitting there writing an article for the Daily Prophet?" Theo prodded the eldest Greengrass sister and everyone sniggered but he was only being mildly malicious. Theo had a little crush on his fellow snake and everyone knew it. Daphne responded by playfully smacking him in his bicep.

"Sod off, Theodore. I simply want to know the latest gossip. I've been cooped up at our lake house in the Alps  _all summer_   _long_  and haven't heard anything about anyone." Theo rolled his eyes. Daphne gestured to Tracey. "Trace?" she encouraged.

Blaise adjusted his arm around Tracey's shoulders and she sat up in her seat a bit, crossing her legs to get comfortable. "Well, my source was Winnifred Willis who we all know to be chummy with Ginevra Weasley," she paused and everyone nodded. Winnie Willis was a sixth year Slytherin who'd bonded with the youngest Weasley after being partnered together in classes numerous times together. Also, Willis was a Prefect and was at the meeting to witness first-hand the result of Hermione's metamorphosis alongside Tracey and Draco. "Therefore, what I heard is most certainly truthful." Tracey cleared her throat. "Apparently, Ron is disastrous to be in a relationship with. Hermione Granger's exact words were, 'he's utterly thoughtless and selfish, and terrible at kissing'."

Everyone erupted into light laughter with Blaise and Theo's bellowing guffaws overcoming the atmosphere. Draco snickered. "Doesn't surprise me at all," he said quietly as he looked into his chalice full of firewhiskey but his surrounding companions had heard. A brief, unmistakably awkward silence penetrated the air.

Zabini and Davis looked at each other and then back at Malfoy. Parkinson peered over at the tall Quidditch Seeker. Her hazel eyes were filled with a hundred questions. Greengrass pushed her glasses up, her expression clouded over in thought. Nott sighed dramatically.

"Sweet Salazar that little, know-it-all bint sure grew into a sight for sore eyes," Theo proclaimed unashamedly. Blaise and Tracey's gazes never left the silver-haired snake as they continued to sip their cocktails. "I saw her frolicking about in Diagon Alley. Tally-ho! If she wants I'll  _happily_  show her what good kissing feels like."

Draco's grey eyes turned to slits.  _'No, you won't.'_ he thought, fuming. He had to watch out for that one.

"Well, good luck with that Theodore." Daphne said monotonously. "You're such an impressive wizard specimen;  _truly_ , it will be no trouble at all getting  _Hermione Granger_  to fall at your feet." Theo felt outwardly offended at her sarcasm.

"Is that so, Daph?" he questioned, setting down his firewhiskey.

"I said it, did I not?" she answered, crossing her arms in a huff. Theo placed his hand on his heart, keeling over in faux pain.

Pansy scoffed, "On that note I'm off to bed. Goodnight, morons." She moved to leave but not before a swift glare in Draco's direction. Perhaps there were still some un-mended wounds deep down in the Parkinson heiress.

"Oh, you don't mean that," Nott winced theatrically. "You don't mean that, because you're  _jealous_!" He jabbed Daphne in the shoulder with his finger. She cackled manically.

"Please stop Theodore, I'll laugh myself into an early grave." She deadpanned and as fast as a muggle-bullet she stood and fled the room in the same direction as Pansy.

After a few seconds, Blaise poured himself another drink. Tracey smirked. "Well, that was  _invigorating_."

"What's with you, mate?" Blaise suddenly rounded on Draco, addressing the proverbial elephant in the room. "Is there anything we need to know about? Anything you need to tell us?"

"What?" Draco leaned backwards, his pale fingers clutching his black pants tightly in worry. "Why would there be anything for me to tell you? I'm fine, thanks."

"You're acting pretty peculiar if you ask me,"

"I  _wasn't_  asking." He interjected.

"You're loads more quiet than normal, brooding even with this anguished, faraway look in your eyes; much too thoughtful to be considered healthy.  _Really_ , what's got you so put out?"

"Really Blaise, I said I wasn't asking." Draco responded, smugly but grimly.

" _I'm_  asking," the dark-skinned Italian raised his voice slightly, enough for Tracey to want to set her hand on his leg.

Theo had his elbows on his knees, leaning forward as he gazed up at Draco from the sofa across from him. "We're only concerned, mate."

"Maybe he's not ready to talk about it yet, you can't force him." Tracey offered mercifully.

Draco breathed in and out through his nose as he slowly lost the staring contest with Nott. He knocked back the rest of the alcohol in his chalice and leveled with his friends. "Honestly, Davis is right. I'm not ready and I'm not exactly sure what I would even say. So for now could we please just drop it?"

The other three snakes shared looks with each other before agreeing to let it go. "Of course Draco," Tracey said.

"Course mate," the other two echoed softly.

"That's excellent, thank you because there's nothing wrong with me. I'll be headed to bed now as well. You lot should too. It's getting late." With that he got up and walked to the dormitories.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _Hogwarts Castle, the Dungeons, September 2_ _nd_

Tracey found Draco right before breakfast on the way to the Great Hall. She caught up to him in the dungeon corridor and they both stepped out of the way of other students to have a discussion but Draco had his arms crossed, body language conveying that he was unwilling to open up, not even to his closest friends.

"Trace, if this is about last night I really ca – "

"I know but…" she trailed off for a moment, trying to figure out how to tell him. "Well, you know me Draco; I notice… pretty much everything." Tracey leaned closer. Her voice became hushed so no one near could hear. "I saw the way you were looking at the Head Girl during the meeting." Draco's mouth opened to retort but she quieted him. "I may have unintentionally mentioned something about it to Blaise," she admitted with regret.

"What do you mean?" he snarled darkly, attempting to hold back his building frustration.

"It was nothing really, but right after the meeting I wanted to tell him of the Gryffindor Princess' fresh look and of all the attention she was receiving and well…"

Draco tapped his foot impatiently. "What  _exactly_  did you say, Davis?"

"I  _said_ , 'Even Draco was absolutely entranced'."

The Slytherin Prince smacked his forehead comically. " _Absolutely entranced?_ " He ran his hands through his now disheveled locks. "You've  _got_  to be kidding me,"

"I'm sorry," she offered sincerely. "It just sort of slipped out."

"Right so what else then, eh? Zabini have some sort of scheme cooked up to mess with me? You know, I'm getting entirely exhaust-" Tracey noted his lack of denial to the validity of her 'entranced' comment.

"Erhm… him and Nott may have –"

" _What?_ "

"They've made a little bet of sorts," she paused as Draco's eyes glinted lividly. Tracey gulped.

" _Go on,_ " he said through gritted teeth.

"After dinner they had a conversation in the loo about it. Apparently, Theo said that he thinks it'll take you only two months to get her into bed, maybe less. Blaise countered that it'll take you until Christmas or... or not at all because…"

" _Because…?_ "

"You're as chicken as a first-year Hufflepuff,"

Draco Malfoy at least had the sense to laugh at that but it wasn't in good humor. He sounded maniacal, almost murderous. Tracey was certain the silver-haired fox was beginning to lose it. Draco realized that with Blaise interrogating him and Theo saying what he said about Granger in the common room the night before most likely had been part of a ruse to give him some incentive to go after her... or maybe they just wanted to trip him up, break his stride but ultimately he concluded that to be unlikely. However, Draco had incentive enough as it were and he didn't need nor want his two best Slytherin mates meddling in his romantic affairs. It really was none of their business.

"That's fucking hilarious, Davis. Thanks for telling me but say no more. I want to be surprised when I get to see what Zabini and Nott have to do when they find out they both lost that bet."

He couldn't  _believe_  those two, Blaise mostly. At least Theodore had some faith in him and that's because Nott truly knew the type of person Draco was. They'd essentially grown up together, spending countless afternoons in their childhoods side by side reading in the library, riding their brooms and playing freely in the lush gardens and meadows of their familial estates. On the other end, Zabini had spent his younger days mostly travelling the world and exploring different cultures and lands. His family's main residence was in Italy but they had many luxurious villas and cottages scattered throughout Europe.

"Malfoy, just ignore them! Go your own pace. Remember, what they say does  _not_  matter." She replied, but he had already turned around and was walking away.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _Hogwarts Castle, 1_ _st_ _Floor, September 5_ _th_

It was finally Friday, the first week of classes was over and the weekend had officially begun. Students everywhere were clamoring about, socializing, getting ready for dinner and surprisingly there were several actually still immersed in their school work. Hermione Granger for instance was in the library searching for a specific book she'd need to help her with the up and coming Potions essay.

She hadn't seen much of Malfoy since their first encounter on the Express. Yes, he'd been in her classes and here and there he'd eyed her up but he hadn't spoken to her, which she was somewhat glad for but the prolonging of the supposed inevitable was almost too much to bear. And what could they possibly say to each other that wouldn't turn out to sound callous or awkward? Hermione had a hard time believing either of their defenses could be shattered so easily.

Not to mention, there were loads of other boys and girls giving her attention. Most of it was romantically or sexually charged too and Hermione couldn't deny how nice finally being noticed was making her feel. She kept reminding herself to stay grateful and also to steer clear of the creeps.

As she browsed the shelves the specific book she so desperately needed popped into focus. It was sadly perched all the way at the very top shelf but Hermione thought there may be a chance of actually reaching it if she just stretched a little higher…

The Prince of Slytherin was also looking for a book, the same one in fact and as he came around the towering stacks deep within the library he almost jumped at the sudden sight of her. She hadn't heard him however and Draco assessed his options as he appreciated the way her skirt hiked up and up, exposing the flesh of her soft, golden thighs as she reached for the top shelf.

He'd been waiting for an opportunity like this to speak with her all week. Granted, with Draco being the kind of person he is naturally he wanted to make her wait a little bit and play a harmless game of hard to get but damnit to Slytherin if that wasn't a difficult task. He couldn't just simply ignore her; even his eyes had betrayed him throughout classes and meals though try as he might she kept catching him gazing at her.

On her tippy-toes, with the one hand gripping a shelf at her eye-level Hermione's outstretched fingertips could just skim the binding of the elusive tome. A small sweat beaded at her hairline, she was struggling and becoming quite irritated. She was about to give up to go find a chair but just then was blindsided by the unforeseen presence of another. A familiar hand with long, pale fingers gingerly grazed along hers and effortlessly retrieved the book from its high place.

As Draco leaned above her he couldn't resist as he discreetly inhaled how she smelled. It was freshly exotic, reminiscent of a Caribbean beach and there were sugary notes of saccharine floral, a combination of coconut mixed with vanilla and a dash of sweet pea. It was like pure heaven.

Hermione turned and peered up at him. Her big, chocolatey amber eyes shone with apprehensiveness but also with something akin to admiration. "Malfoy…?" She had to admit to herself she was more than a bit shocked to see him so suddenly after only thinking of him moments ago. In truth, these last few days he was almost all she thought about, save for school work and Head Girl duties. Even just then she couldn't help the red hot flush that crept up her neck and cheeks at his unexpected closeness. "Um, what're you…?"

He held the book away from her lingering hands. "Head Girl," he nodded in greeting. "As you're well aware, I'm in need of this particular book for the same Potions essay. If I let you have it now, promise to pass it on to me when you're finished?" he offered politely but his grin charmingly bordered on devilish.

Instinctively, the twelve-year old Hermione inside of her wanted to huff and puff just because it was him talking, but the amiable kindness in his eyes and the reasonability of his question was not lost on her. "Uh, well yes, of course," was her nervous and excited reply.

He smirked lightly. "Here's your prize, then." he handed her the textbook.

"Thank you," bashfully she held the book to her chest tightly with both hands, her usual sense of bravery missing when it mattered most.

"Just find me when you're all done with it, Granger. Owl me, if you need." He suggested. Despite her smile Draco sensed her uneasiness and he wished to soothe her into the idea of the two of them becoming friendlier. Her beautiful chestnut colored tendrils were splayed all around her shoulders with the top pulled into a half-up, messy bun and a few lone strands had fallen over her eyes. Without any further thinking he reached forward to push them out of the way, brushing over her face with a barely there touch. Her freckled cheeks reddened to a shade similar to tomatoes and Draco chuckled gently, quirking an eyebrow at her. "See you around Princess," he winked as a final gesture and walked away, leaving her to swoon in the library.

And thus began the trajectory of Draco Malfoy's seduction of Hermione Granger. Also, he was of course dead-set on finding out any information that might prove she was indeed the goddess from his most favorite portrait. Even if she wasn't, at that point he was fairly certain he didn't care. He was now too immersed with the enthralling possibility of bedding Granger to want to ever give up on it, same woman or not.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

_Ground Floor_

The Great Hall reverberated with the loud, rambunctious voices of all the students and faculty. By the time Hermione walked through the entrance dinner was already in full swing. She glided in between the Ravenclaw and the Gryffindor tables careful not to glance in the direction of the Slytherin table and took a seat next to Ginny. It was too late she realized when she came face to face with Ronald directly across from her.

"Hey, 'Mione," Harry greeted kindly from beside Ron. "Find everything you needed at the library?"

"Yes, I did. Thanks, how was your afternoon Harry?" Hermione smiled trying to come off natural, hoping she wasn't giving away anything pertaining to certain events that transpired in said library.

"It was alright. Lounged about in the common room, chatted it up. Wouldn't dare to look over a single book," he said proudly with a smug smile on his face. Hermione giggled, she'd been missing him this week. He'd spent almost all his time trying to be there for Ron that he'd barely talked with her, but she didn't want to be angry about it, she didn't want to be angry at all anymore, about anything.

Hermione looked at Ron who lifted his head from his plate and met her gaze. "Hello Ronald," she chanced.

Ron swallowed his mouthful of food, replied a small, "'Mione," and then took a large swig of his pumpkin juice.

She figured she shouldn't take it further than that so she made herself a plate. It included a plentiful amount of roasted meat and potatoes but she was really craving more vegetables. 'Brain food,' she thought as she added a hefty amount of green beans to the mix. Then she felt  _his_  eyes on her. Not Harry's striking emeralds or Ron's mellow, hazel-azures but those tempting, arctic grey-blues. Hermione tried not to but she couldn't resist and she felt her self-discipline completely deplete to nothing when she let her gaze shift to meet Draco Malfoy's, his eyes those shining silver-ice lakes, deep with intense emotions she wanted to dive right into. She felt excited for the moment she finished her essay, when she was obligated to seek him out to hand over the promised textbook.

Just then, Ginny turned away from Parvati Patil and cupped her hand around Hermione's ear, whispering playfully. "Parvati wanted me to tell you that Lavender said that Cormac is coming after you." Hermione was cruelly ripped from her thoughts and immediately felt internally disturbed.

"Are you being serious?" Hermione questioned, befuddled and leaned in to speak more quietly. "I thought Lavender and Cormac were an  _item_. Why would she want to say such a thing?"

"Actually, those two are only  _shagging_. They have a completely open relationship."

"That's… uh, well okay? So?" She was going to say how absurd it sounded but stopped herself. She wouldn't want to be in one but an open-relationship wasn't that strange, she surmised. " _I don't care_. I have no interest in that vile prat  _whatsoever_." Hermione may have sounded a little harsh and definitely a tad snooty but she'd turned down Cormac McLaggen on numerous occasions throughout the years and it astounded her that he relentlessly refused to let her be. Throughout classes she would notice his chilling, jade green eyes constantly watching her and there were moments when the prick got a bit handsy with her; here or there tapping her shoulder, poking her in her sides or standing so close she could feel his raggedy stench of breath blow hotly against her hair and neck. The strange, unstable energy he emitted really did have the ability to give her a fright sometimes. It truly seemed like Cormac just wanted to give into his lust, grab her up against her will and take her away. Just the thought of it caused the peach-fuzz over her entire body to eerily stand on end. She despised that brainless, Quidditch-obsessed werido. He was such a dim-witted, lecherous cad.

"Alright yeah whatever, you don't have to hex the messenger." Ginny sniffed under her breath.

"Sorry Gin," Hermione replied abashed by her own waspishness. "I've just grown so tiresome of McLaggen's advances. I thought I'd finally gotten rid of him when Brown found a way to ahem, _tickle his fancy_  so to speak."

Ginny chortled, her light, tawny-walnut eyes brightening with mirth. "He's a right foul one, 'Mione. I don't blame you. His face may be cute but everything underneath is boring and vapid."

"Exactly. There's nothing there, there's no… substance." She whole-heartedly agreed. Hermione thought of someone else who did have substance; a tall blonde wizard who had a cool mysterious soul with a dark deepness she wanted to wade away in.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 **AN:**  That'll do for now I suppose. I could have written more but I'll save it for the next chapter. Let me know what you're thinking so far! And again, thank you so much for reading! Cheers, my friends.


	3. Chapter Three

**AN:**  So I know my italicized settings and dates might seem weirdly done but I have my own algorithm for them. I'll be mentioning the year at the start of every chapter strictly for consistency, and I've decided to mainly categorize the scenes by the general floor they take place at. That will give me more room to describe exactly where the characters are at as I progress to each moment. Also semi-important, I made up a Prefects Lounge which is essentially a room for the Heads and Prefects to have their meetings and enjoy downtime :0)

Anyway, thank you so much for all the reviews and follows! I'm pleasantly surprised by the amount of responses I've gotten so far with just two chapters! Amazing! Thank you all for reading! You guys seriously rock!

 **She's A Work of Art**  
**Chapter Three**  
-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _Hogsmeade Village, September 6_ _th_ _, 1997_

"I'll meet you there," Hermione said, waving to Harry and Ginny. "I need to make a quick pop into Scrivenshaft's for some more ink."

"Actually," began Harry. "I could use a better quill." He turned towards Ginny. "Will you be alright if I tag along with Hermione?"

The claret-haired Weasley was serene. "No bother, Winnie said she'd be perusing the racks. I'm sure she'll be there. Besides, you act as if I need a chaperone Harry," she jarringly shoved him in the chest. "You know perfectly well I'm capable of handling myself, you big git." Harry looked abashed but grinned and straightened out his round glasses.

"Leave it to you to get mad at me for simply being polite, sassy witch."

"And don't you forget it,  _Harry Potter_." She smiled and winked, then coyly sashayed away, making sure to sway her hips vivaciously as she waltzed into Gladrags Wizardwear.

Harry's gaze lingered for a moment until her blazing hair disappeared through the door. When he turned around Hermione had one hand on her hip and was sporting an arched eyebrow, completing her inquisitive expression. "What?" he asked, like he didn't know.

"Don't play dumb with me Mr. Potter," she said, grabbing his arm and leading him in the direction of the quill shop. "How long are you going to pine after her until you finally realize she  _wants_  you to properly ask her out?"

Harry chuckled uncomfortably and scratched the back of his head, feeling sheepish. "I'm no damn good at that sort of thing, 'Mione. Honestly, I've been waiting for her to pursue me." They rounded a corner on the cobblestoned street. "She's dropped hints but I can't be sure from the mixed signals." Hermione prodded her chin.

"Hmm, that is a fair point. Ginny usually has no trouble doing the pursuing," the two walked into Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. "Maybe it just hasn't been the right time for her yet but don't lose faith Harry."

"Thanks Hermione, I won't." he said, and they both amicably smiled at each other.

Harry began browsing a major aisle filled with some of the most beautiful, state-of-the-art quills and Hermione scampered off to the ink-well section. Her eyes lit up at all of the shiny new bottles and containers and her usual go-to brand,  _Billie's Blots_  came into focus. As soon as she picked up a few glass pots the lazy drawl of a certain silver-tongued snake caught her attention.

"Fancy seeing you here Princess," Draco was beside her. He had his arm perched lightly against one of the ink-well racks, languidly leaning in close. "Not the  _least_  bit shocking that you're already out of ink a mere week into term."

Hermione scrunched up her nose haughtily. "Oh? What are _you_  doing here in this aisle then, I wonder?"

Draco clicked his tongue, said "Not ink Granger," and then he nodded to the wall behind them. It was the parchments wall.

"Well, look who's already out of  _parchment_  a mere week into term." She huffed, mocking him.

"On the contrary, I didn't originally bring enough with me in the first place." He was being mildly pompous but Hermione giggled lightly. His eyebrow rose, amused.

"Funny, because similarly I didn't bring enough ink with me  _in the first place_." She smirked flirtatiously and he tried to suppress the wide grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Have you been working diligently on your essay?" he asked, rubbing his thumb and index together in anticipation. "Knowing you, the first draft is finished and you've hastily begun the second." The ferret was unable to resist a good round of playful banter. When she snorted in laughter but didn't right away answer he suckled on his lower lip and she eyed it with a particular curiosity. "Unfortunately, I can't finish my own essay without that book."

In between the parchments wall and ink-well racks, Draco's mid-section inched nearer and nearer towards her smaller frame. His trademark, stark-light hair fell dashingly over his icy eyes and Hermione tried to suppress a swift tremble as a cruel chill ran along her spine. The way his slate grey, thermal jumper hugged his toned muscles and lean, limber physique was reminiscent to the attractiveness of the backstreet lads from that muggle American boy band that her cousin had played for her over the summer holiday… but in this intimate proximity, Hermione could breathe in his crisp, musky scent which was divinely thick with a clean, telluric essence akin to meadow grass. Just as well, the subtle undertones of citrusy cedar and smoky myrrh complimented his entire countenance rather nicely. It was  _hypnotic_. When had Draco Malfoy smelled so… earthy? It must be that she'd never picked up on his scent before… she'd never been this close to him.

Matter of fact, their interaction in the library the previous day had been the very first time the Slytherin Prince had ever touched her on purpose. When he'd tenderly brushed strands of hair from her face it felt so surreal, like a dream just as it felt right there in the quill shop. He was ineffable; an ethereal, lucid-like being, transcendental beyond words. Standing there in front of him she felt as if he were a truly alluring but diabolical incubus who was driven to gradually possess her willing soul.

"Won't be long," she responded, fearlessly pretending to ignore the way his half-lidded eyes burned into her with pure want, but he'd seen her take each erratic breath, he'd seen every move she made. "In truth, there's not much more I could possibly get out of it. Tell you what, how about I give it to you later this evening?" His ears perked up at the suggestion.

"Later this evening, you say. After rounds, I suppose?"

"That'll do."

"Okay. Meet me in the Prefects Lounge."

Hermione nodded in agreement and as if on cue Harry came around the aisle and found the two of them like that, dangerously close to one another.

"Malfoy…?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Hey Harry," Hermione said. "Find a good quill?"

"Hullo Potter," Draco sneered in greeting, mildly irate at the interruption.

"Is he  _bothering_  you Hermione?" Harry had murder in his glinting green eyes. The Slytherin was offended.

"No, not at all," she was quick to answer. He crossed his arms in total disbelief.

"Potter  _really_ ," Draco began, waving his hand in dismissal. "Why would  _I_  be a bother to the Head Girl? I'm one of her loyal attendants after all, am I not?" Harry continued to stare him down. Draco pursed his lips, rolling his eyes. "You know, seeing as I'm a Prefect…?" he said, pointing to himself.

"I know you're a Prefect Malfoy," Harry spat and walked towards him in challenge. "I know everything about you."

"I think," Draco seethed. "That's a highly inaccurate statement. You don't know me, whatsoever."

"I know enough," the black-haired Gryffindor countered. "I know everything I need to know about you,  _snake_."

"What in the  _blazes_  is that even supposed to mean, Pothead?" Draco was flabbergasted. He was bordering on laughing but the situation shouldn't have been funny.

"Uh excuse me," Hermione attempted to interject before things got out of hand. "I don't –"

"What do you think it means? Feeling guilty about something?"

Draco couldn't help the guttural chuckle that sounded from his throat. "Tsk, oh Potty," he wagged his index finger in admonishment. "We're all a bit guilty of something, aren't we?" He didn't wait for Harry to answer. " _Accio:_   _Lightning Wit Better Letters, package of five hundred sheets,"_ and with a wave of his hawthorn wand he summoned the called upon item. "Au revoir  _chaton_ ," Draco bid farewell in Hermione's direction and she blushed.  _Chaton_ meant kitten in French and for some far away reason she'd known the foreign term since childhood, from a long ago memory that took place in grade school. She looked at Harry whose focus hadn't left the Slytherin. Walking away to pay and without looking back he called out, "See ya, Potter. Stay outta trouble. Wouldn't want a guilty conscious now, would you?"

"Hmm…" Hermione hummed after Draco left the aisle.

"What?" Harry said.

"It's just… when did he become so… wise? Yes, he's always been smart and clever but…" she trailed off.

Harry always harbored so much hate for the pureblood heir after the years of torment him and his friends had been subjected to and still on top of that he chose to ignore how humiliating it felt to have his best friend basically compare him to not only someone who was his athletic rival but also a Slytherin who all around did better in grades than him.

"Would you listen to yourself, Hermione? This is  _Malfoy_  we're talking about," Harry was livid. "He's off his gobby trolley, I say. For all we know, his Death Eater father and him have been formulating a plan right under our noses. What if," he paused and whispered so only they could hear. "Voldemort is back at it again."

"Harry  _please_ ," Hermione begged, stomping her little foot lightly in protest. "Malfoy and I having a cordial conversation does  _not_  signify the end of the world. Think logically here. You're being paranoid!" The Boy Who Lived did not want to mention out-loud exactly  _how_  cordial that conversation had looked.

"Maybe, maybe not," Harry shrugged his shoulders and gestured for her to follow him to the register. "But I swear I'll do whatever it takes to find out what that sneaky ferret is up to."

That comment made Hermione really nervous.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

The two friends entered Gladrags Wizardwear to find Ginny Weasley and Winnifred Willis, but not alone. Also enjoying a shopping spree were Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis.

Davis spied the approaching Gryffindors, grabbed hold of Greengrass who comically yelped out from the surprise, and quickly entered behind a curtain used for fitting. Hermione observed this, amused. She wondered what that meant precisely, concluding with the possibility that the two very prim and proper Slytherins may have something up their sleeves.

Ginny had on a beautiful, mid-length satin dress. The color of it was an egg-shell white and it had a low scoop neck with green trimmings. When she saw her companions she did a twirl and curtseyed, being uncharacteristically over-girly. It made Harry and Hermione chuckle.

"Well, look at you," Harry said breathlessly.

"Do you like it?" Ginny asked them and grabbed each of their hands.

"Stunning," Harry offered.

"It really does look good on you," Hermione complimented.

"Thanks," the redhead beamed.

Winnifred poked her head out of one of the curtains. "Hey Gin, can you please unzip me?" Ginny ran to the rescue of her Slytherin pal.

Hermione looked at Harry who was blushing. She wasn't sure if it was mostly from the thought of two sets of girls alone together in fitting rooms or if it was because of how smitten he was with Ginny and she wouldn't get to think on it further from the sudden emergence of the older Slytherin girls. They were sporting their usual weekend garb, having been done with the excursion.

"Davis, Greengrass," Hermione politely greeted.

"Head Girl," they addressed in unison.

Ginny dashed back out from behind the curtain with a glimmering article of clothing and ran towards them. "This would look simply  _smashing_  on you, 'Mione. You've  _got_  to get it!"

Hermione reluctantly took the garment that was shoved to her and peered down at it as she held it out with her hands to see it better. The dress was a bit longer, probably ending at the ankles, but appeared to be form-fitting. It was a light-lilac purple shade with blue undertones, dusted in sparkles over the entire dress but surprising to her was how soft it felt. Its neckline dipped a bit lower than she'd prefer but damn, it sure was a pretty thing.

"Where am I even going to wear this, Gin?"

"You could wear it on a date,  _obviously_. Merlin knows you need one for the  _rebound_."

" _Ginevra_ ," scolded Hermione. Harry looked uncomfortable.

" _What_? Yeah I know he's my brother but he's just as much an arrogant, skiving git."

Harry opened his mouth to say something in protest but Hermione beat him to the punch. "Not all the time but yes, he can be." she corrected.

Winnie had long since rejoined the group and the tumultuous exchange between the friends were witnessed by each of the Slytherins with bemused expressions. Tracey cleared her throat. "Hermione, may we talk with you in private? Just for a second,"

"Uh, sure." She answered. Gods, she saw this one coming. Hermione followed Tracey and Daphne to a secluded corner of the store. "Yes?"

Tracey fiddled with the ends of her blonde hair, twisting strands about her fingers. "To put it simply, we are well-aware of an oncoming situation. That is to say…" Hermione leaned forward, ready for the information but Tracey balked.

Daphne rolled her eyes and straightened out her brown tortoise-shell glasses. "To put it  _simply_ , we have reason to believe that Draco is planning to pursue you."

Gryffindor's Princess tried not to laugh. This information was not necessarily news to her. "Is he? For what, exactly?" she asked exasperatedly, tired of the day's events already. She was praying the two beautiful girls were not just messing with her. "Is it school work?" she tried to play stupid.

"Granger, you can't be serious," Daphne sighed woefully, smacking her forehead and Tracey giggled.

"No, you silly little Gryffindor," the blonde said. "He wants to…  _you_  know." She wiggled her eyebrows in suggestion.

At that Hermione could not stifle her laughter. "Really now, you can't expect me to believe that," she said crossing her arms.

Daphne looked angry. "It's true," she whined.

"Okay, then how do you know?" the Head Girl questioned.

"I spoke with him earlier this week. It's just… obvious." Tracey began, treading carefully. "Us Slytherins know each other well,  _too_  well actually. All of us, we just  _know_." The Prefect decidedly left out any knowledge of the bet between Blaise and Theo. It would be most imprudent to mention it and everyone would surely feel the Gryffindor Head Girl's wrath if they did.

" _All_  of you know, huh? Alright…" Hermione started, seemingly taking their word for it but showing no emotion towards the fact of the matter. "So, why come to me about it, why the need to tell me so direly? What's it to  _all_  of you, anyway?" she was very curious why it was even anyone's business.

"Well…" Tracey shrugged. "We want to know if you'd reciprocate." Daphne nodded in agreement.

"Okay, but what does it even matter to you?" she countered.

"It… it just does." The auburn-haired, elder Greengrass sister replied.

Hermione turned away from them and scratched her chin, pondering her response. What in Godric's name was the reason they cared so much? Did either of them want to be with Draco Malfoy? Tracey was happily dating Blaise Zabini from what she knew, and Daphne… she wasn't totally sure about Daphne. There were past rumors that she thought Theodore Nott to be fetching but that was all hearsay… and Theo, well Theo was known for being quite the player. So did Daphne Greengrass have her eye on Draco and this was their way of confronting her about it… or was it something else?

She turned back to the Slytherin girls. "Honestly, I can't say I would reciprocate and I can't say I wouldn't. Surely, Draco Malfoy would have to do a lot for me to even look his way…" she huffed, giving nothing away, nothing of how she had already looked his way as often as she could.

"So it's completely dependent on whether or not Draco is able to successfully woo you or not?" Davis asked her.

" _Woo_  me?" Hermione chuckled and slapped her hand on her knee. "What is this, the eighteen hundreds?" Daphne and Tracey shared a look. The Wizarding World was still very old-fashioned in some ways so a word such as 'woo' was not odd to them. "Ladies, please. This is all dependent on if he and I even have a connection… Malfoy has… he's always detested me. It's highly improbable, to say the least."

Both of the Slytherins rolled their eyes. "Right… if you have a connection," Daphne echoed.

"We think you already do." Tracey mumbled and Daphne smacked her in the arm.

"We've said enough," Daphne said. "Come, let's go. Granger, we'll see you around."

"Ta-ta Head Girl," Davis called out as they swiftly left Gladrags.

As a bewildered Hermione made her way over to where her friends stood waiting and whispering she noticed they had extremely quizzical expressions, including the short and pretty brunette, Winnifred Willis.

"What in Merlin's beard was that about?" asked Ginny as she arrived to the group and the redhead gave her back the lilac dress. "You know you're buying this right? Please Hermione, it would look  _decadent_  on you I just know it."

"Fine, fine I'll buy it," she said quickly, having become accustomed to the thought of possibly wearing it some place… perhaps she could ask the Head Boy and other Prefects if they'd be into the idea for throwing a ball of some sort, maybe around the Holidays? Or maybe she really could wear it on a date. "And it was nothing of importance, honest." She replied unfazed. No one said anything of it yet so she led the group to the register. "You lot down for lunch?"

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

Inside the Three Broomsticks, Ginny, Hermione and Winnie walked straight for a table but Harry gave them an apologetic look and headed towards a booth where Ron Weasley, Faye Dunbar and Parvati Patil sat. Ron was nestled closely with Faye, their hands held together unashamedly on top of the table.

"See, 'Mione? There you go, that's the perfect reason not to care about going on a bloody date with someone else." Ginny told her. Winnie nodded encouragingly.

Hermione was unaffected, happy for him even. Still, she'd probably not have minded going on a date with someone whether Ronald was moving on or not. "And what about you Ginny, when are you going to ask Harry on a date?" she desperately wanted to get the focus off of herself.

" _Me_?" the youngest Weasley screeched. "Why do  _I_  have to do the asking?"

"Come on now Gin," said Hermione with stern eyes. "You know as much as I know that Harry will struggle with that. Why don't you just make it easier for everyone involved and get on with it?"

"You do like him, don't you?" Winnifred asked in naivety and then ordered a round of Butterbeers from Madam Rosmerta. Ginny sighed dreamily.

"I've  _always_  liked him," she said. "Maybe I even… love him, I don't know but… I guess I'm scared I'm not good enough, that he'll reject me or tire of me, push me away and then our wonderful friendship would be ruined."

Hermione snorted. "You'll never know if you don't try," she said and thankfully the girls didn't notice her eyes widen at her own statement, seeing as it similarly rang true for her situation with Malfoy. She wouldn't know, if she didn't try...

Later on, it'd been hours and they'd had a few drinks. The Head Girl realized she had to use the loo. After she did her business and washed her hands she made her way out of the restroom and slammed straight into a body. "Oh no, sorry I –" she met the devious, seafoam green eyes belonging to Cormac McLaggen. "Cormac,"

"Ah Granger, you're just the girl I was hoping to see," he said with a slimy grin plastered across his face. "What are you doing tonight, tea with me perhaps?" If it had been almost anyone else it wouldn't have necessarily been an unreasonable question but then without warrant his hand drifted to her waist and he roughly began pulling her into him. "Fancy yourself a piping hot cup of Cormac?"

"Ew, Gods no Cormac, get off of me!" she hit him in his chest but he wouldn't let go. No one could see them in there unless they walked into the darkened alcove where the loos were and Hermione had to admit this was exactly the sort of situation she'd been worried about and the fear inside her sprung forth. "Are you insane?  _Let go_ ," she tried to pull away from his embrace.

"C'mon Hermione Granger," he whispered gruffly in her ear as she wiggled about. "You know you can't resist me forever. You know you  _want_  it," he was going in for a kiss.

"I believe the Head Girl told you to let go," an authoritative, no-nonsense voice sprang from the shadows. "So, let her go you imbecile!"

Cormac's smothering, bulky frame was gratifyingly ripped off of her and she gazed up to see the silvery-blonde shock of hair belonging to her knight in shining armor, the Prince of Slytherin himself. Draco smirked proudly at her as he pulled back his fist and let it sink into Cormac's cheek,  _hard_ and the stockier Gryffindor was sent flying away with all the energy of a raging tsunami.

McLaggen disdainfully looked up at them from the ground, rubbing his cheek. Blood was leaking from the side of his mouth. "You'll pay for that Malfoy,"

"Oh, will I?" Draco snickered, cracking his bruised knuckles. "Doubt that McLaggen, see if you tell anyone about this at all I'll be forced to explain to everyone how you've accosted and harassed the Head Girl on multiple occasions. This was the last time by the way. Have I been clear?"

"Crystal," he grimaced and spat blood onto the floorboards. Something told Hermione Cormac was not entirely finished and would still somehow want to get back at the Slytherin, persistent arsehole that he was. A few other students passed by them and with curiosity they observed McLaggen standing up and dusting himself off. Hermione followed Draco inconspicuously down the hallway but before they reentered the dining area he turned to her.

"Granger I'll uh, see you later." He promised, hinting at their planned meeting that evening in the Prefect's Lounge. "Try not to get yourself accosted again, yeah?" and then he casually walked away.

It would be only a few short hours before the rumor that Draco Malfoy punched Cormac McLaggen in the face at the Three Broomsticks had fully circulated. No one was sure why it happened exactly but the bruises were there so people were  _sure_  of it. Hermione Granger had been seen present in the aftermath and it was assumed she had some unknown involvement, the nature of which was uncertain.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 **AN** : I hope this isn't total rubbish! This one wasn't as long as I'd have liked it to be and it was kind of a filler chapter but I wanted to update as soon as I could. I PROMISE the next chapter will have more and more Dramione moments! And again, thank you all so much for reading. Your thoughts, favorites and reviews mean the world to me! It's so heartwarming to know there are really people out there reading and enjoying what I have to write. Cheers to you all, my friends :0)


	4. Chapter Four

**AN** : Greetings lovely readers! I am truly soooo sorry for taking this damn long to update! Life has been happening, as is the way for us all. I won’t bore you with that stuff but side note: the only legit excuse worth mentioning is that I’ve mostly been focusing on my own, completely original works of literature-in-the-making in between messing with my fics so getting anywhere with my stories takes _foreverrr_. **IMPORTANT** : I made some minor edits and grammatical corrections to the previous chapters. Nothing too significant, the trajectory of the story hasn’t changed at all and nothing was taken out. However, I decided to add a few small bits I deemed as absolutely necessary, strictly to try and fatten things up with some more details. So considering it’s been awhile I’d give it a quick refresher, an itty bitty wittle skim. Hey, don’t sue me! It really wasn’t that much. My memory is total shit so regardless I’m constantly re-reading chapters of the stories I follow in order to remind my brain what the fuck was going on where I last left off. I whole-heartedly applaud those of you who don’t have that problem! 

One last thing, I just want to give a huge thanks to all of my followers and to the beautiful, encouraging reviews I’ve so kindly received. It means the world to me, and it is inspiring that there are so many of us out here, connecting through our love of shared interests and having so much in common. Joyful are we to know we are not alone in our fantastic obsessions. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Peace and love to all :0)

 

 **She’s A Work Of Art**  
     **Chapter Four**  
-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~- 

 _Hogwarts Castle, 5th Floor, September 6th, 1997_  

If you asked the Head Girl if she was nervous while she waited in the Prefects Lounge, she would have told you the word nervous was an _understatement_.  Hermione was anxious to the core as she sat there, tapping her quill over an open textbook and chewing her lips and cheeks in distress. A cozy, hot cup of tea was her saving grace and it steamed beside her in a mug on the big, round dining table where she and her “squad” literally speaking, had their meetings and sometimes their meals. It was a bit reminiscent of the story of Camelot and the Knights of the Round Table, and that had been a long running joke between her and a few of the others.

 She thought of this, attempting to distract herself. Her eyes betrayed her, snapping back to the ornate clock on the wall for the second time since she entered the room. All of the Prefects should have been finished their rounds by then, unless of course any of them had come into trouble but that was unlikely. Most of them would have gone straight to their dormitories but a few were prone to pop in and out of the lounge after rounds before bed time.

 So there Hermione sat fidgeting during the time chosen between her and her handsome Slytherin classmate, simply to hand over a book. ‘Damnit all Hermione,’ she inwardly berated herself. ‘It was only just yesterday he first asked for it. Could I have seemed any more like a desperate slag?’ It was a tad worrisome to her that perhaps maybe she’d come off as too eager when they’d chatted earlier at Scrivenshaft’s but what she told him wasn’t a lie. She truly was finished with the tome and could find no more new information after she’d gathered the data she was searching for. Besides, she had to give him some idea that she was interested in getting to know this polite, more improved Draco Malfoy. What better way to show interest than to agree to meet up for a casual, non-serious reason?

 Was she really only just giving him the book though? Hermione was thinking as she slid her fingertips along the weathered spine of the culprit object. Did he expect more of her? ‘Of course he does. You can’t be that stupid. His intentions have been made clear enough.’ Normally a suitor, no matter how attractive, would need to be a lot more than just witty or charming to greatly impress her and keep her attention. They’d have to be much more than playfully clever and alluring for her to feel comfortable enough opening up and breaking down all her walls, her walls which were expertly built upon years of romantic apprehension and cemented in place with understandably high standards for herself but… she had to admit, ferret-boy was _good_ and Godric yes she absolutely wanted him to touch her, unlike Cormac McLaggen.

 The aggressive brute had thrown himself on her merely hours ago and Draco had unequivocally _saved her_. He was like a radiant superhero that’d beamed down from the sky to adhere her safety. It seemed a little childish but oddly she felt like she’d lived through the climactic scenario in a cliché fairy-tale, the slow-motion exit-scene etched finely in detail over the pages of an illustrated, graphic novel… as if she’d been the relatable and desirable heroine of the story, tormented by a hurtful, greedy villain but who’s honor is ultimately defended by the irresistible, swoon-worthy hero.  
  
Pondering the intrigue of it all at that very moment had Hermione rubbing her thighs together with lustful approval. But what was he _doing_? They were already starting to cause a commotion and all they’d done was converse like ordinary people. She still couldn’t believe that him of all people.... Why was _he_ so bent on pursuing her? Were they really to risk opening Pandora’s Box, to risk unleashing total devastation unto their usually peaceful kingdom, all over a potential shagging? Would allowing themselves to give in to their self-serving thirst for each other’s intimacy be worth it? Would it be worth upending the normalcy of their entire school? 

Not only had all of the Slytherins somehow involved themselves, not the least alarming with his heightened paranoia over Death Eater conspiracy theories was how Harry was overly suspicious of Malfoy. This had quickly turned into quite the sticky situation, a messy scandal of pivotal proportions, one that was certain to bring an unwelcomed shift in the regularity of the traditional politics between the Houses. In less complex terms, should they follow-through with this _wave-inducing_ union, it was evident they’d be rocking the proverbial boat.

The event in Hogsmeade had been witnessed only by the three people involved but nevertheless the damage was done as the passerby’s in the aftermath had seen Cormac dusting off his trousers, muttering swear words under his breath and repeatedly coughing and spitting up blood. Draco and the Head Girl were spied briskly striding away and the question of what had happened lay densely unanswered in the air at Hogwarts. Gossip was in full effect and the rumors were sure to be piling up.

Upon her return from the restroom at the Three Broomsticks she’d quickly gathered her things, bid farewell to her friends and hastily left for the castle. This was her way to avoid all the staring and hushed whispers she knew she’d see and because she loathed receiving questions in which she had no answer for yet. So at that point, before she came to the Prefect’s Lounge she’d locked herself up, isolating away in her own bedchambers. Then, with no regrets she’d skipped dinner and instead opted for some leftover snacks she had lying around. There were no disturbances for a while until the much-expected advent of Ginevra’s own personal interrogation in which Hermione was _honest_. Much to the redhead’s satisfaction the Head Girl recounted to the nosy Weasley sister about her brief but steamy conversations with Draco, what the Slytherin girls had said when they’d approached her in Gladrags and finally of the incident with Cormac.

Ginny was beside herself, upset from hearing what her Gryffindor classmate had tried to do her friend. Regardless, when Hermione described for her how unreal it was to see firsthand the unforgettable gleaming visage of a gallant, knightly Malfoy coming to her rescue and decking McLaggen across the face, the redhead had instantly perked up, feeling better after knowing Cormac had been put in his place. She giggled excitedly and sighed, her tawny-walnut eyes glazing over dreamily. In Ginny’s opinion, the Slytherin’s chivalrous grand gesture made him most deserving of Hermione’s appreciation and declared that as a woman the Head Girl was now at the very _least_ , obligated to grant him a fair chance in further piquing her interest. She’d waggled her brows in sexual suggestion, boisterously begging her to indulge the silver snake and then brazenly added a naughty statement, something along the lines of finding out precisely how _big_ the Pale Prince of Slytherin’s manly bit was.

The younger Gryffindor had gotten a pillow thrown in her face and a boot out the door, for at the time it had been too much to hear for Hermione. She really didn’t need Ginny flailing about girlishly or telling her who she should go out on dates with, although the girl did have some good points but it wasn’t like Hermione hadn’t overanalyzed everything already, Virgo that she was. Yes, Ginevra had been right; Hermione was indebted to Malfoy, in fact there was a small possibility that he’d even prevented her death. Who’s to say Cormac wasn’t more dangerous than people presumed? Especially if she’d made him angry enough who’s to say the lousy creep wouldn’t have killed her in a twisted-up crime of passion? That type of misdeed wasn’t uncommon so _seriously_ , did anyone really know Cormac McLaggen, like actually know him? For the life of her, she could not even name a particular student she knew him to be close to… except for Lavender Brown but she had a reputation of being reckless, callow and a terrible judge of character. So it was a fact; Cormac was strongly disliked by many, and when he’d come around most everyone’s noses upturned with disgust as if there was a putrid smell in the air. The duplicitous, incontinent boy definitely gave her and everyone else a bad vibe and she practically owed Draco her life. The Head Girl wouldn’t forget it, unless of course this all turned out to be a cruel joke in the end.

Hermione pinched off a little fuzz from her pale purple sweater and blew a rouge strand of curly hair out of her face. She held her tea, taking a sip of it and with the other hand she lightly primped the top of her mane. Tonight she’d chosen to wear her hair in a braid. It was so long now but still it was always harder to keep out of the way but no, she’d never cut it again, at least not for a long time. She loved it this way.

Her eyes darted to the clock again. ‘Bugger,’ she thought. Where was he? ‘He should be here by now.’ She took deep breaths, willing her anxiety away and remembered what she’d learned that summer.

_Things shall pan out as they should, for all time. Let live what is to be for it is truth. Be strong but serene, like how a rippling river is so dense but very gentle as it slips over stone._

‘I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.’ She decided hopefully, but Draco Malfoy was rarely late. 

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _3rd Floor_  

‘Fucking hell,’ he thought, lamenting with palpable conviction as he went barreling down a corridor. ‘That took _entirely_ too long.’

Firstly, Tracey and him caught a few immensely un-sneaky badgers playing “puff, puff pass” in one of the greenhouses. The accumulation of seventh and sixth years had shared a spliff, rolled up with an incredibly illegal substance prior to the arrival of the two snakes. Yes, it had been five against two with the older of the Hufflepuffs being Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones, and Tamzin Greeves. The sixth years were Owen Cauldwell and Kevin Whitby who both played on the Quidditch team and thought they were tough.

Thankfully, nobody wanted conflict for it was very obvious who was really in charge, seeing as _they_ were the Prefects and especially because it was something as forbidden and hush-hush as cannabis was in the wizarding community and the muggle world. No Draco and Tracey, scholars that they were did not enjoy as much as one might think, the idea of tattle-telling or ruining someone’s educational career. Anyway, he didn’t think smoking the skunky-flower was really such a big deal. 

So yes, he jested with the sheepish but cheerful crowd of plant-hugging, dirt-divers and he mocked their insolence and lack of tact. He told them if _they_ were able to find them, wouldn’t they consider anyone possibly finding them huddled in there, dark as it might be? Say, the caretaker Argus Filch or Professor Pomona Sprout? And then that sniveling punk Cauldwell, a beater for the Puffs, confessed that one time they’d actually gotten the jovial woman to smoke with them. Tracey immediately hissed that he was lying but Finch-Fletchley and the rest attested to it, admitted that they’d all been there and it was quite the jolly good time; a testimony for and of the ages. 

Draco felt a strange twang of envy at the thought that he’d missed out on witnessing such a bizarre yet comical moment, a moment where he could have glimpsed his long-time professor do something unexpected and extremely prohibited with students. Imagining it made him chuckle in amusement at how hilarious that must have been. And how fitting, because really who else from the faculty other than lovable ol’ Sprout to be revealed as the Resident Rascal all along? Clearly, one could not deny that the earthy, stout witch loved her plants. 

The Prefects bestowed their mercy upon the harmless delinquents and before ordering the badgers to return to the hovel they called a common room, Draco recommended if they must continue their shenanigans that they start thinking more like a Slytherin so they don’t get caught again and to use a Smell-Suppressing Charm to rid out the potent aroma. For good measure he added that if the Slytherins needed a future favor of some sort then the Puffs would do well to remember their particular kindness this night, for it wasn’t given lightly. 

If that hadn’t been eventful enough, then he and Tracey captured a couple fourth years of their own kind rummaging through Severus Snape’s potion’s storeroom and those two were in _trouble_. Upon reaching the door that was left carelessly ajar, the older Slytherins had eavesdropped on their conversation which illuminated for them the details of their endeavor. 

Mindy Spelling and Priscilla Atwood had big, big plans for brewing love potions. Draco felt sorry for whoever the unfortunate souls were going to be because he sort of knew the girls. The two weren’t exactly the most attractive little females but it was their atrocious personalities filled to the brim with obnoxious opinions, over-bubbly, effervescent voices and bland overall countenances which was the most off-putting. Perhaps they were just young and would probably grow into nicer, more practical ladies who had their priorities straight. Actually, they were incredibly similar to Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil at that age… even though those Gryffindor girls were still a bit like that but he had higher hopes for his fellow Slytherins of course.

Tracey and Draco dragged the humiliated, smaller snakes to the Potion Master’s Office where gratefully he’d been and not yet receded to his chambers. They relayed to the Bat of the Dungeons exactly what the girls were found out to be doing and handed over the smuggled contraband: powdered Moonstone and pearl dust. 

Predictably, Snape was not the _least_ amused and Atwood and Spelling were _so_ lucky not to be expelled. 

Draco should have known it’d be like this the first weekend after the start of term; bad apples and assorted riff raff running amuck, up to no good like it was bloody Mischief Night. He could only hope Granger was still in the lounge awaiting his arrival, but he was _late_. What if she thought he’d stood her up? What if she thought he was just the same, chauvinistic ruffian that he always was? He was doing so well at gaining her interest, he believed. He’d been an utterly compelling force and could see in her eyes that the desire for him was there. The Prince of Slytherin _really_ didn’t want to ruin it. He didn’t want to squash out this smoldering spark they shared so soon… and they did share one, a spark. Draco came to realize from the electricity of their heated auras and engaging, playful camaraderie that he and Granger undoubtedly had a connection, the likes of which he couldn’t neglect or deny. He wanted to dive in headfirst and discover exactly how deep it ran. 

As he rounded a corner Draco stopped in his tracks, taken off guard from a swift stinging in his eyes. He rubbed at them, confused as he winced in pain. “What the bloody fuck?” he mumbled, the panic setting in when they grew all the more itchy and started swelling up at a rapid pace. Before he knew it they’d sealed shut, secreting thick goo that dried and crusted at his tear ducts. It made them unable to open. 

 _Oh Salazar’s shit_ , he’d been rendered blind. Draco couldn’t see anything. Obviously, someone had just casted the Conjunctivitis Curse on him. He kept quiet, straining his ears for any noise. He had an attacker, and they were close.

Quickly, he reached inside his cloak for his wand but to his absolute horror his hands and fingers had been reduced to an unmanageable consistency that of which was identical to marmalade. His digits were boneless, uncomfortably bumping against his wand and bouncing around in his pocket. It was no use, he could not grasp it. 

A door opened and a solid body rushed into him, sending both parties to the floor of the empty study room. His assailant stood, magically locked them in and then kicked his prisoner in the ribs. Draco wailed in anguish from the splintering wallop to his side. The aggressor grappled him, holding him down and pelting him with hard punches in an uncontrolled frenzy. The Prefect tried to buck the person off of him but it was to no avail. Whoever they were (and he had a good guess), they were _strong_ and pretty heavy but also clumsy and unsure in their movements. 

The bumbling oaf who Draco figured was male, had no style or grace whatsoever to accompany the strength he happened to have but then again, who needed style or grace when you could just beat the ever-living shite out of somebody? Presumably, this had been a well-thought out tactic, a bold effort of cursing his target so he could be jumped but Draco knew some things that his attacker didn’t. 

There was a loud, stiff thud that had his ears ringing, his throbbing head flying to the side with the impact by a blunt hit from a fist. He groaned in agony but Draco couldn’t feel his lips. His face was numb and a trickle of wet blood was seeping from a slice in his cheek. He’d gotten the wind knocked out of him, perhaps a bruised rib even and his eyes were on _fire_ , remaining swollen and tightly glued together. Even if he’d managed to crack one open he was pretty certain the act would rip his lashes clean off. 

“When I said you’d pay for that,” the oaf spewed, clutching Draco’s collar and lifting him slightly off the ground. “I meant it, Malfoy.” He dropped him, then grabbed the top of his silver-blonde hair and roughly rammed the back of his head into the floorboards with a resounding thwack. 

Draco only grunted and sputtered a little from the intense blow, valiantly trying to hide how much pain he was really in. Had his cranium just…? It was bleeding beneath him. Cormac still had a hold on him, his sweaty palm pressing crudely against his forehead, keeping him down while his chubby fingers dug ferociously into his tenderized skull. Despite how dire it probably looked from an outsider’s perspective, to Draco’s delight the weakly-cast Jelly-Fingers Curse he’d been subjected to gradually begun to wear off and almost all the feeling of his bones were returning in his hands. He might still be blind (until he could get to Madam Pomfrey) but cleverly Draco brewed up a plan. 

“Oh McLaggen,” Draco sighed lazily, sounding bored. “I didn’t want to assume you were _this_ stupid but low and behold, I’ve gone and given you far too much credit.” 

Cormac held him in place and Draco endured another dead-weight punch, straight to his left ear. From this, he’d trouble listening to the next words spoken to him as each one echoed and rebounded fiercely through his ear drum. He remained passive and emotionless despite feeling dizzy and despite how distraught he was that tonight on top of _everything_ else he’d been literally hunted down and overpowered, battered and tattered like he’d been whipped up by a muggle egg-beater. 

“Why don’t you just _shut_ your mouth, you snarky git,” the Gryffindor growled, shaking him up. “You talk too much, all the time just talk-talk-talking your way out of everything, like you’re so much bloody better than everybody else. Gods Malfoy, you think you’re so damn special! Well, you’re not at all! You’re just a big fuckin’ fake, and a fuckin’ liar.”  

The moron’s voice croaked out the spiteful words, his throat twisting with fuming rage and Draco could tell Cormac felt so big and unstoppable but that kind of smack-talk was _unacceptable_. Who did this mangy Gryffin-Puss think he was? The time had come to put a stop to the mayhem.  

With lightning-fast movement Draco’s now fully capable hand found its way to Cormac’s round face. Placing it on his temple he spoke firmly, “Legilimens.”  

Immediately he was flooded with McLaggen’s memories from only five minutes ago when he was darting menacingly after Draco through the dark hallway, drunk on his own revenge… and then it was hours ago at the Three Broomsticks as he stalked greedily after Granger to get her alone. In that instance the brute’s private thoughts, which had been perversions of the most uncouth and sinister nature, reverberated harshly within Draco’s brain and it felt exactly like it were a formidable wind, swirling violently under the mighty thrashing of a dragon’s wings while it takes to flight. His conscious was shuddering, knocking to and fro and for a second thought he might be swept away by the mental cyclones, never to return. That nauseating sensation simultaneously meshed with the pain from his pulverized body made the Slytherin suppress his vomit. 

Pushing through his weariness Draco plunged himself further, deeper to more memories where Cormac had been obsessively watching the chestnut-haired beauty during all their classes, meals and free-time in the common room, but this had not been a recent prospect, oh no. Cormac had been meditating on the idea of Hermione Granger since they were children and the worst part was the slimy wanker didn’t even care if she returned his feelings… ultimately he cared only about bedding her, with or without her consent. What was more disturbing if possible, were his feeble ambitions that she’d one day belong to him, like an object to keep. He wanted to own her, lock her up and put her away like a toy he could play with whenever he wanted and it was a sick, sick revelation. Cormac was one-hundred percent a sadistic psychopath. 

In fact, this dumbfounded Draco more so than he already was. This was no doubt akin to the kind of person his dear mother was afraid of him becoming and he had to think on himself for a brief pause. 

Weeks prior, Narcissa had confronted him about his risqué-portrait collection and expressed her worry that he’d turn into a misogynistic arsehole who only thought of women as playthings. Although, that wasn’t at all the way Draco was, and that wasn’t how he thought of the opposite sex. He could understand how his mother’s concerns came to be but honestly he’d felt quite offended by her lack of faith in him. Draco knew his provocative portraits to be no less than the beautiful, profound pieces of artwork that they were; candid displays of blossomed, goddess-like witches, free and comfortable in their respective settings. Truly breathtaking to him they were, for not only were the pictured sirens happy and content but the various backdrops, lighting and color combinations were chosen well and done right, resulting in awe-inspiring scenes that were visually appealing in every way. 

Draco did not take his collection for granted and he felt blessed with the privilege to gaze upon the erotic sights at his own leisure; those sensual sights, they were a piece of time frozen to a stand-still, existing there for him to admire. And yes, when he was ready to relax and unwind at the end of the day with a viewing of his dream-maidens he’d of course become sexually aroused, especially from the Hermione Granger look-alike but for the love of Salazar he was a hormonal young man. It was normal to do so, completely natural but he did want to reiterate how much he genuinely appreciated women, not only for their bodies but for their hearts and minds as well. Draco saw them as works of art, each a unique masterpiece to be adored and respected, very much unlike the way the callous devil before him viewed his fellow witches. 

After sponging up all he could of the incriminating proof from Cormac’s memories and stowing it away for later, Draco released him from the memory-sifting spell and the stocky Gryffindor whimpered meekly as he collapsed in an exhausted heap. ‘Wow,’ he thought in wonder towards his own abilities. He hadn’t reckoned he was _that_ strong of a Legilimens but he wasn’t complaining. 

Alright, so there was the evidence and the Prince of Slytherin had every intention of presenting his alarming new discovery to McGonagall and Snape at once but this battle was not yet won. Despite draining Cormac directly of his energy and reducing him to a pitiful pile of scum, Draco was unconvinced that one round of mind-bending was enough _current_ punishment for the rotten cur. McLaggen had to be taught a lesson for _good_ and Draco had another trick up his sleeve. 

“You made an effort, I’ll give you that. I can’t see a thing right now,” drawled the silver fox, standing there statue-still and sensing the mutinous miscreant’s whereabouts as he attempted to get up. “But my hearing is immaculate, you know that McLaggen?” he lifted his black boot and kicked Cormac in his shin causing him to topple back to the ground. “I’d hear if you tried to get away.” That was still true even after the blow to his ear. He went to land another kick, this time punting him directly in the side as payback for earlier and the Gryffindor wheezed, grasping at his torso. 

Then the Slytherin dug inside his pocket, retrieving his hawthorn wand. Draco raised his weapon, aimed it towards Cormac and with a razor-sharp flick of his wrist he said, “Suffocatio eorum.” 

Instantly he heard him gasp for air, his wind pipe constricting and closing up. Guaranteed Cormac had his hands grasping his neck in desperation. Draco had to hurry, this was Dark Magic. He definitely didn’t want to _kill_ Cormac by accident, Gods forbid. 

“You really asked for it this time, now you listen to me,” Draco began gruffly in an attempt to fill the degenerate with terror.  He stooped down low, resting his arm on his knee. “You, Cormac McLaggen are a _pointless_ , _worthless_ , _revolting_ waste of a wizard,” he barked a cynical laugh, rubbing his inflamed eyes in irritation. “Did you actually think it was a good idea to come after someone like me, someone who was raised in the Dark Arts? Fuckin’ imbecile I tell you, an average student at best. You don’t even deserve your magic…” 

The sounds emitting from the asphyxiated Cormac made him realize he wasn’t being quick enough. He released the hold of the curse for a merciful couple of seconds letting the Gryffindor suck in a monstrous few breaths, spewing and coughing everywhere. Reaching forward he was able to find Cormac’s shoulders. As best he could manage he punched him clear-cut across the face, hopeful he’d left a nasty reminder. Then just like that he raised his wand, repeating his incantation and Cormac was once again in his choke-hold, strangled and restrained. If Draco could see how frightened he’d made the boorish sociopath become while in the throes of potential death, he’d be overjoyed. 

“Here’s the deal, you’re getting expelled... tonight. I’ll see to it straightaway, but I _swear_ it McLaggen that if you try anything; try to find her, contact her, if you ever even _look_ at her or step foot in Hogwarts again I won’t hesitate to murder you with my bare hands.” Draco finished in a venomous snarl and with that he lifted the curse. Cormac’s airways opened and as he heavily inhaled for more oxygen the Slytherin Prince tried to decide how to go about his next move. 

Tragically, this meant he’d have to postpone his meeting with the Head Girl. Surely she’d forgive him once she found out what happened. Yes, Cormac was a danger to all of society but Draco hadn’t done this for greater good, nor had he done it for himself. Believe it or not, he wanted to protect Hermione Granger. That had been the forefront of his motivation: her safety. 

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _The Marble Staircase Tower_  

Meanwhile, the cherished Princess of Gryffindor felt absolutely _livid_ , which was understandable considering she was wholly unaware of the debacle that transpired below. Her unadulterated rage seethed within as she marched resiliently up the marble staircases towards the Lion’s Den where she’d withdraw to her beloved personal chambers but she needed to make it there without any interference. All she yearned for was to be wrapped snugly in her warm quilt on her big, cozy bed. As impossible as it was, she wished to be blessed with the knowledge on how to delete this day from the history of her life. 

Of all the careless mistakes in the world she could have made, it had to be _this_? Of all the people to let reel her in… she’d _never_ anticipated that someday she’d be idiotic enough to fall prey to such a fallacy, no matter how convincing it was. It had been a cruel deception and her heart ached, feeling mortified it’d been orchestrated by the foulest, most conniving charlatan of them all. 

‘Good show Draco Malfoy, well done,’ she thought grimly. Inside her, that ray of hope she’d nurtured all week had burnt out, turned over to ash and died away. ‘I knew it deep down, that it was too good to be true. I just wanted to believe you’d changed.’ 

Hermione felt like she _could_ cry, not that she would. She’d not dare to let herself waste a single tear over that arsehole, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting at all actually. She could spare herself any grief or humiliation by simply pretending as if nothing ever happened in the first place, like they’d never spoken cordially or shared all those enticing, tempestuous stares with each other. Hermione would forget all of it, forget about him. Indeed, that was easier said than done but for the Gryffindor Head Girl, to exude a sense of stoicism was not as hard for her to achieve as one might assume. She would will herself to feel and appear completely unaffected even though now all she felt like was a naïve, foolish little girl.

Come morning, she’d make a dash to the library and return that wretched book back to its high shelf and out of her possession. If he needed it so badly he could fetch it himself, end of story. Hermione would no longer entertain thoughts of the smarmy git or humor him by playing his childish games. 

As she approached the Fat Lady, a tempting thought she’d kept at bay (for fear of getting her hopes up again) was pulling her attention and she gave into it. Occurring to her was the small chance that she was jumping the gun by overreacting and that maybe something had genuinely come up which the Slytherin Prince was unable to avoid. Perhaps he’d have an explanation for his absence but if so he’d better be honest about it and it’d better be a _bloody_ good one. She might choose to be reasonable if correctly swayed. 

Oh, but then what of the other Slytherins? Were this past week’s events just a massive prank, a tiresome, theatrical production arranged through the Snake Pit for their own petty amusement? If that was accurate then this was not only a Malfoy-problem, this was a Slytherin-problem. When pretty purebloods Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis questioned her in Hogsmeade she was certain they’d only been bored and curious and if that wasn’t the case then one of them, Daphne more than likely had feelings for the silver-haired heir. What was the truth of it all? The lack of information was maddening to her. 

These were the grueling anxieties that zoomed through her head as Hermione finally gazed up at the painting at the top of the landing. The large woman flattened out her poufy pink dress and greeted the Head Girl in predictable fashion. 

“Password…?” 

“Rhododendron,” 

“You may enter.” 

Hermione shuffled quietly through the entryway and into the warm atmosphere of the common room where to her total dismay sat Harry and Ron. They were hovering over a round of wizard’s chess with only a half-dozen pawns left on the board. At her emergence the boys snapped their heads to see who’d come in. 

“Hermione,” began the raven-haired Seeker as he got up from the chair. In his eagerness it was easy to see he’d been awaiting her return, a million queries ready to tumble out of his mouth. Before he could speak she put her hand up for him to yield.

“Harry, I’ve had a harrowing day and I’m thoroughly spent. If this could wait until later on…” 

Potter nodded, swallowing down his inquisition. If he were to speak he’d have to tread cautiously. “Okay, it’s fine. I’m just worried about you… _we’re_ worried about you, after the things we heard.” He turned to look at Ron, suggesting precisely what she thought he was suggesting; that despite her harsh dismantling of their relationship Ron Weasley was still concerned for her well-being - _shocker_. After all they’d been close friends since the beginning and for all those years Hermione stood by his side through the thick and thin, pushed him along during the times when he wasn’t sure he was going to make it and he (usually) helped her do the same. As a companion who’d shown him nothing but long-time loyalty as well as a shot at a romantic relationship, the fact she might be in any sort of distress should be enough to generate his regard for her well-being, at the least. 

And how much did Ron and Harry think they knew, anyway? She’d bet that Harry already told him who he’d seen her chatting with in Scrivenshaft’s which had probably been a discussion spawned from an exaggerated rumor they’d heard. She refrained from rolling her eyes, caught up again in the ocean of her own mind. “Oh, um… I see. Well I’m just great, Harry. Never better honestly but it’s time for me to turn in so I’ll talk to you tomorrow, alright?” 

There was a momentary beat and then, “Sure, of course ‘Mione,” he responded gently and lifted a hand, resting it on her shoulder as a gesture of comfort. “Why don’t you go get your rest? I’ll see you in the morning.” She was grateful for his kind heart, but also that he wasn’t going to persist. 

“Sweet dreams Harry,” she started walking but stopped before the stairs. “Night Ronald,” she offered. 

His blue eyes widened, crimson brows popping up a bit in surprise at her polite acknowledgment of him. “Night ‘Mione,” he said softly and she departed up the steps. 

As soon as she was gone Harry was back in his chair. “See what I mean?” 

Ron nodded, sentimental in his expression. “Yeah, I see it.” 

Harry had stayed alert but still McLaggen had yet to return to the dormitory and was a no-show at dinner. “I’m going to kill him Ron,” he ground out, absentmindedly palming his lightning-bolt scar. “I’m going to _strangle_ McLaggen to death when I see him,” 

“He won’t make it out of Hogwarts alive. Now what are we going to do about Malfoy?” Ron wondered.   

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _Gryffindor Tower – much earlier in the evening, after the Hogsmeade trip but sometime before dinner_  

Ginny Weasley, clearly in the gayest of moods, went catapulting down the stairs at record speed and when reaching the bottom she jumped and landed on her feet, nice and agile-like as if she were a cat who had an energetic disposition. Those present in the common room had all turned to observe the minor commotion. Harry grinned to himself, admiring her spunk and vivaciousness. ‘Such a show-off… a _sexy_ show-off,’ 

“Hullo boys,” she sang and plopped between the Boy Who Lived and Neville Longbottom on the couch.  She looked at the table where they had their parchments out and textbooks open. “Studying very hard, are we?” she asked them with a coy smile. 

 _“Very_ ,” Harry emphasized. “I’m not sure I’ve ever studied so hard in all my life.” The sarcasm in his tone was apparent and it got Ginevra heartily giggling. She playfully whacked him on his arm anyway. 

“What you got there, Nev?” the redhead asked, elbowing the taller Gryffindor in the side. 

Neville cleared his throat, distractedly ruffling the front of his brown mane and tore his focus away from the scroll he had unrolled. “I’m just going over some things for my Herbology homework, nothing I can’t handle.” 

“You’ll never need help with Herbology Neville; you’re Sprout’s best student.” Ginny intonated mirthfully and the bashful wizard’s cheeks pinked from the compliment. 

“Thanks,” he said quietly and his timid nature absolutely thrilled her. She loved to be bothersome occasionally, innoxiously subjecting her friends to a healthy dose of harmless torment. 

“It’s the truth; you have a gift you adorable little lamb.” Ginny teased and his rosy face dimmed to the deepest rouge which made her laugh again. Then to Harry, “Do _you_ need any help?” 

“Uh, let’s see…” he shuffled through his stack of notes but her simple query reminded him immediately of his brilliant best friend who he was worried for and he couldn’t stop himself. “Actually, there is _one_ thing but…” he trailed off. 

“Yes..?” she could already tell this wasn’t going to be about school work. He locked gazes with her, a serious gleam in his jewel-green eyes. Still holding his notes, he leaned in closer to be more discreet. 

“Since we’re being so truthful here, would you mind telling me what’s going on with ‘Mione?” Ginny peeled her light brown eyes away. Shit, how could she not have seen this coming? She should’ve left the Tower and went elsewhere when she had the opportunity. That could still work if she made a run for it. Timorously, she weighed her options. “If you know anything, that is. You just spoke to her, didn’t you?” 

Ginny decided to go for vague and unaware, unsure about what he was referring to specifically. “Uh, yeah I did and she’s fine, Harry.” This did nothing to appease the Boy Who Lived and he barreled onward. 

“Look, something strange is happening. Hermione was… different today.” He did a once over of the room to make sure there was no one listening, save for Longbottom. He’d heard it all already. Harry felt so agitated earlier he’d sought the only solace he could find, confiding in and venting to Neville whom he was comfortable calling one of his best mates. “After I’d picked out a quill at Scrivenshaft’s I went to get Hermione and…” it troubled him to say out-loud. “And there she was, talking to _Malfoy_ ,” he whispered his name so soundlessly that it almost had Ginny cracking up again. Instead she tried forcing her expression to that of surprised interest, like she had no idea about any of it. “Yeah _him_ , which was already bizarre right but the worst was seeing them just… just fuckin’ mixing it up like they’ve been dandy old friends for years! I couldn’t believe it… I thought I was hallucinating, or hexed.” Ginny nodded with vigor. “And they were standing _so_ close it looked like… like they were actually…” 

The youngest Weasley took this as her moment to jump in. “Hmm… this is most intriguing. You know, she didn’t tell me anything about _that_...” It was a bold faced lie, an attempt at keeping the knowledge of Hermione’s secret crush at bay. Then she reasoned she should say a bit more to try and deter the direction he’d been going so she clasped her hands together and with child-like whimsy she peered up to the ceiling. She would attempt to work this into Hermione’s favor and say appraising words about Malfoy to make him sound better in the eyes of his foe. “Although, she did give me details on what happened at the Three Broomsticks,” but she was interrupted. 

“Wait, _what_?” asked Harry in astonishment and Ginny was perplexed. Everyone had been talking about it… had he really not heard? Now she truly felt like a grand idiot. “What happened?” 

She sighed woefully. “Well, here’s how it went Harry,” she began looking around for Cormac, remembering her anger but the dirty blonde wasn’t in the room, lucky for him because she was very eager to chop his bullocks off. “Hermione went to the loo and when she was walking back that creep McLaggen followed her and tried to force himself on her,” Harry Potter’s eyes lit up with a vengeful violence, the likes of which Ginny had rarely seen. “I don’t know where that slimy bastard is Harry but I don’t think I –“ 

“How the bloody fuck could you keep this from me, Gin? All this time, just sittin’ there,” He was fuming. 

“ _No_ Harry,” she interceded, hushing him with her hands before he got too loud. Neville, who was also donning an angry expression, was immersed in their conversation and already a few other students had become more aware of their voices. “I didn’t say anything about it because I assumed you already knew and were leading up to a discussion about it… but Harry, _please_ listen to me because then Malfoy happened to be walking by and intervened, otherwise things would have been much worse. Slippery prick that he might be, Malfoy _saved_ Hermione! He _punched_ Cormac in the face! I didn’t see but Lavender came to me and cried in a huff about how ugly the bruise looks.” 

“Are you serious...?” Harry wasn’t sure exactly what he’d just heard but he was pretty sure it wasn’t that Malfoy had come to the rescue of his best friend in a time of crisis, not that he’d be ungrateful. His first reaction was that this would mean, strangely and unexpectedly that Draco Malfoy, the wealthy and pale, pureblooded heir and Slytherin’s Prince might _actually_ have a thread of humanity inside him. Never would he have predicted such a monumental moment to transpire, a moment where the silver-haired ferret had done a good deed as extreme as this for another Gryffindor, a ‘muggle-born’ witch no less. This couldn’t be happening; the very image of Malfoy that Harry held for so long was now out of nowhere split and shattered. In the past, the Slytherin despised Hermione for simply what she was born as. Maybe there’d been a radical change of heart? At the very least, it must have been that Malfoy was decent enough a person to save a girl from the hands of an assaulter, no matter who she’d been. 

Ever the more anxious Harry continued to zone out as Ginny kept blabbing and Neville asked her a question. Thinking drearily, ‘But what if… what if Malfoy had actually been doing the same thing McLaggen was?’ It could be a fair point. What if the snake really had been plotting something all along? Harry was quick to notice the way the two behaved together at the quill shop, the way Malfoy burned into her with his eyes, raking her right up as if he’d compelled her, seduced her. That wasn’t the Hermione he knew. His Hermione wouldn’t fall for that artificial charm unless her sacred brain had been tampered with. 

And then, come to learn that Malfoy _just happened to be there_ when she was being attacked, at completely the right time? It just seemed so fishy and played out, like a set-up. Malfoy had to have orchestrated it all. Harry deduced that if his hunches were correct then the Slytherin’s motives must be to worm his way into the good graces of the Gryffindors and falsely befriend them, gaining their trust only to eventually betray them somehow, probably with the return of Voldemort or something morbid of that nature. 

Nothing good could ever possibly come from a Malfoy. Harry didn’t trust Draco as far as he could Stupefy him. His instinct now was to find his right-hand man, Ron Weasley and tell him of his suspicions. Then they could come up with a solid plan.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-  

 **AN** : Yes loves, I knowww, I KNOW. No Dramione fluff this chapter as I’d promised but I had to end here so I could finally give you guys _something_! I didn’t mean for this to turn into quite the slow-burn it’s become but I just couldn’t stop myself. This is the way it went and what is a story without disgruntled angst and juicy filler plot? Probably a much better story! Haha _ugh_. Take pity upon this humble hermit and let me know what you think so far! Kind input is always appreciated. Chapter 5 is in the works so look out for my next update! Thank you all for tolerating my writing. Cheers! :0)

 **PS** : if you look it up, the choking spell I described exists but with an unknown incantation so I created one using Latin for, “choking them” which I decided sounded good and made sense. Also I meant to say before that I may have made up a thing to bend the will of my story, a Legilimens thing which basically means that certain memories seen through the eyes of the spell-caster can in some cases be shared with another skilled Legilimens. I read what I could about Legilimency but could find no concise answer addressing my particular concern.

 


	5. Chapter Five

**AN** : Here we go - the fifth installment. I want to give a huge thank you to all of my follower's and reviewer's! I can't express enough how much I appreciate you guys! I am grateful that you keep reading! I don't believe I have anything else to say about this chapter so without further ado I give you a plethora of thoughtful Dramione fluffy/steamy moments. Peace and love to all!

 **She's A Work of Art**  
**Chapter Five**  
-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

_Hogwarts Castle, September 7th, 1997_

The silver fox of Slytherin had never known such a joy as to hear the way Cormac McLaggen's petrified body (under the Full-Body Bind curse, of course) sounded as it thudded into every wall around each corner of the corridors, against random objects and railings of stairwells as he levitated him down to the first floor. He had laughed at him, snickered and carried on, saying things like "that's what you get McLaggen, scum that you are," but he was having much trouble seeing due to the Conjunctivitis curse still stinging and itching at his sealed-shut eyes. It had taken  _forever_  and he'd dropped the idiot multiple times on the way while losing his focus. He had to keep spouting the "Wingardium Leviosa" incantation over and over and by the time Draco had made it to the infirmary he'd been so fed up he just left him there in the hallway and went knocking on Poppy Pomfrey's door.

Suffice to say the older woman was the opposite of thrilled at the late-night visit and even less enthused to be administered with the care of Draco's paralyzed prisoner whom he deemed a felonious criminal under a serious offense. Thankfully, after Draco elaborated, mentioning something about having to press charges and how he was a danger to the other students she'd scurried along to make appropriate preparations.

The medi-witch had yelled at him though, advising him to stay put but Draco didn't want to heal all of his wounds quite yet and once thoroughly infused with the Oculus Potion she gave him he headed not far down the corridor to Minerva McGonagall's living quarters and office. The Head of Gryffindor was slightly flabbergasted from his sudden presence but held her wits together and followed him to Severus Snape's chambers in the dungeons after he explained the situation.

Bothering the dark-haired, brooding bat multiple times in one night, especially because of naughty students, was not recommended and Draco would have had a lot more convincing to do if he hadn't been completely mangled and cut up, his face and head bloody from the assault - as well as if McGonagall wasn't there accompanying him. The three of them stood around the fire place, keeping warm and Draco bid the Potion Master to read his mind.

As he penetrated his eyes right then, Snape was thrown into the world that had been Draco Malfoy's mind that day. However, considering Draco was inherently skilled in Occlumency already as it were, he blocked out the parts where he and Tracey Davis had found the Hufflepuffs smoking reefer in the greenhouses, keeping that secret as valuable leverage. Everything else he let his greasy godfather have full access to, even his feelings for Hermione Granger, embarrassing as it was. He just wanted them to know the truth in order to avenge and protect his woman…  _his_  woman?

Wait a minute… he did  _not_  just feel that. Fuck, now it was certain that  _he_  was in his own twisted kind of trouble. What was he, some kind of lust-driven, territorial animal? Regretfully, in some cases he presumed that yes he was a bit of an animal and he needed to calm himself down about all that… but Merlin, he was really hung up on that lioness. She had most superbly strung him up by his heartstrings and turned his perspective upside down without even trying.

What was he going to do? He had to get to her, talk to her. She  _had_  to forgive him.

When Snape was finished delving into his godson's brain he hovered beside him briefly, holding onto the young wizard's shoulder in a very paternal way the likes of which McGonagall had never seen in all her years knowing the man. The Head of Slytherin drawled in his slow, stern voice. "Go back to the Hospital Wing. Get yourself healed and cleaned up and Professor McGonagall and I will see to it that the Headmaster knows of this…  _appalling_  calamity. From there we will see about contacting the Ministry post-haste."

Draco nodded but before heading back to the infirmary he asked his superiors if they could tell the Head Girl he'd meet her in the courtyard after breakfast, if she'd so oblige him. The grimace that adorned the Potion Master's face was that of absolute contempt but with a small smirk the Scottish Transfiguration professor agreed to the young Slytherin Prefect's whim.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

It was Sunday, so Hermione decided on a very sensible yet comfortable lounge outfit. The straight-legged joggers she chose were a simple charcoal color and hugged her curves nicely. Her midsection donned a faded, mint-green muggle T-shirt and a cozy white, zip-up hooded sweatshirt. She opted for matching white tennis trainers and to complete the look she braided her long hair behind her into two low plaits that descended down her back and kept her hair out of her face. The Head Girl had to admit, she felt pretty cute today despite the hardships of the previous night. She remembered to hold her head high and ignore the heart-wrenching ache of her shattered pride. Hermione would strictly focus on her studies and henceforth refused to let any wizard or witch ruin the optimism she held onto.

Surprisingly enough to her she'd slept in and missed half of breakfast. Grabbing her book-stuffed bag she bolted as fast as she could out of Gryffindor Tower and down to the Great Hall just in time to fill up on some much-anticipated, delicious toast and bacon… and also to get scrutinized by almost every single student and teacher in the enormous dining room.

Hermione dared a peek at the Slytherin table and was overcome with confusion when she observed that the silver-blonde git was not anywhere to be seen. 'I wonder if something really did happen,' she thought but shrugged and excitedly began eating her breakfast for her tummy was grumbling. She'd hoped that Ginny, beside her and Harry across from her would have let her be but she'd be a fool to think they wouldn't pester her.

"Oi," Ginny grunted in greeting and elbowed Hermione in her arm. "How're you feeling today, 'Mione?"

The chestnut-haired girl blinked, said "Better, thanks," and took a sip of her pumpkin juice. Her friends stared at her expectantly but cautiously, afraid to rub the Head Girl the wrong way. She sighed, reckoning she should talk with them some more. "I'm fine, honestly. No reason to fear I'll bite your heads off!" she laughed heartily, attempting to ease any worry they had, mostly Harry anyway. Ginny shouldn't be worried about anything seeing as how she'd already let the redhead in on all of the secret, random happenings this week.

"Hermione, it's just…" Ginny began but paused, sharing a look with Harry. "McLaggen hasn't been seen anywhere, at all."

"Yeah, because trust me I would have kicked his dick in the dirt by now." Harry interjected.

"Odd," Hermione said, nibbling on a piece of toast. Obviously, Harry knew Cormac had cornered her in the Three Broomsticks and the Slytherin prick was involved. Probably everyone knew about it, especially if he told Ron. Where was he by the way?

"What's even stranger," the claret-haired girl continued with a twinkle in her light-brown eyes. "Malfoy hasn't been seen since last night either." The Head Girl refrained from outwardly expressing her shock, almost choking on her sweet drink.

"None of the staff knows anything and if they do, they're not talking," stated the Boy Who Lived, like it was the most serious thing to ever have gone down in school, not that Hermione wasn't unspeakably curious. She  _was_.

"The snakes are freaking out  _mad_ , you know. Look at them," Ginny said, tilting her head to the Slytherins inconspicuously but when Hermione snapped her eyes to the next table over she immediately locked gazes with Pansy Parkinson, who seemed more than a little put out. She'd almost forgotten that the raven haired girl even existed… but that wasn't really the point. Hermione had a terrible feeling about this. Something was very wrong.

She kept observing the Slytherins and noticed Pansy, Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis lean in over their breakfasts, whispering in hushed voices together. Blaise Zabini was eyeing her with suspicion over his steaming mug of milky expresso and Theodore Nott who was across from him turned almost fully around, giving her a bewildered shake of his head.

Stunned, Hermione looked over at the faculty's table to find that Snape, McGonagall and Dumbledore were not present.

"I don't know what's going on exactly," Hermione suddenly found herself saying. "But I'm sure we'll find out sooner or later." Clearing her throat she began collecting her things. "And I don't know about you two but I have a few things I have to catch up on. I'll see you later?" She'd gotten what she wanted from her breakfast and it was time for her to head to the library. After that she'd reward herself with a scenic walk on the grounds. She definitely needed some more nature in her life, a breath of fresh air.

"Hermione wait," said Harry. "Let me walk with you."

"Harry, you forget I  _can_  take care of myself. Unless, I don't have my wand on me apparently," she blushed sheepishly. She should have known better… from now on she wouldn't forget her beautiful Vinewood wand when she traversed around a dim-lit bar. "But I was completely taken by surprise. I won't be this time. Please, I just want to be on my own right now."

Harry gulped and peered over to Ginny for guidance. She swept her long copper hair behind her ear and gave him a look that distinctly told him to leave it alone.

"I'm sorry, truly I am..." Hermione offered.

"Nonsense love, no reason to be sorry at all," Ginny told her with warmly. Hermione gazed at Harry, awaiting his response.

"You just let me know when you need me, how does that sound?" he asked. The Head Girl clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"You're my best friend! I always need you Harry, just… not right now."

"Right, makes sense." The black-haired boy replied with a small smile and a snarky undertone. Hermione smirked back at him appreciatively and with a last nod to her friends was on her way out of the Great Hall.

Unfortunately, she hadn't made it very far through the Entrance Hall when Pansy Parkinson stopped her, confronting her about Malfoy.

"Believe it or not Parkinson, I know just as much as everyone else does. Surely, in time they will tell us what's going on?"

"Tracey said he left after rounds to go see  _you_  late last night," Pansy retorted, dripping venom. "So what, are you telling me that you  _never_  saw him? Don't lie to me,"

"Why in Merlin's name would I lie? No actually, he never showed." Hermione attempted to hide the humiliation she felt from being stood up but failed as she nervously fiddled with a small curl at the nape of her neck. "I'd thought… oh never-mind," she began but remembered who she was talking to. Godric forbid she'd actually confess her anxieties to Slytherin's Favorite Bint.

Pansy had to refrain herself from keeling over in a fit of giggles. "Stop, stop that's hilarious," she managed through her light guffaws and gasps for air. "You poor,  _poor_   _thing_  Hermione Granger, you'd thought he stood you up?" the girl was squeaking the words. "Oh no, no,  _no_ ," apparently she was a fan of repeating the same word multiple times and it was driving Hermione batty. "If Draco Malfoy tells you he's going to be somewhere at a certain time - he's  _going_  to be there. He doesn't willy-nilly throw these sorts of…  _invitations_  around, Head Girl. You should be grateful he's graced you of all witches, with his full-fledged interest."

Hermione balked, standing there gaping at the dark-haired girl in surprise _. Full-fledged interest..?_  What did that mean, exactly? Was she the only girl he had eyes for at that moment… currently?

Before she could utter any type of counter reply however Pansy was already sashaying away, waving her hand in dismissal. "No bother, then. Snape better show soon or I'll have a conniption unlike any other…" she trailed off, disappearing down to the dungeons and then she was gone. It was fine with her; Hermione didn't want to tell her what happened with Cormac McLaggen and was very glad the girl hadn't thought to ask. She continued on her way up the Grand Staircase and as she neared the top, saw someone completely unexpected but whole-heartedly welcome all the same.

"Professor!" she called out, breaking into a run and as she reached the landing, "Professor McGonagall, I don't understand… there are a few of us a bit concerned over the unknown whereabouts of two students. Do you know what's going on?" Hermione questioned her without mentioning any names.

Minerva tried to hold back her smile as best she could and held her hands up. "Woah there, slow down Miss Granger," she began with a small chuckle but firmly regained her serious demeanor. "I'll have you know that there has indeed been a situation, a  _terrible_  situation. Truthfully, I'm inclined to ask you to meet with me after lunch. It is of great importance we discuss some things –"

"Is… is he alright?" Hermione interrupted, but was shy and tentative as she asked, not caring as much about being discreet with names. "Malfoy, that is." McGonagall did not miss the hint of red that surfaced on the girl's cheeks.

"Fortunately he's fine," she replied. Hermione let out a relieved breath she didn't realize she'd been holding in. "He's been through a great ordeal but was tended to by Madame Pomfrey so he's feeling much better."

"That's good… so what happened?" A million and six possibilities of what could have occurred filtered through her mind but there was only one particular scenario which was the most feasible… a dreadful, inevitable repercussion that Hermione should have seen coming. Cormac must have gone after Draco as revenge for subduing him at the Three Broomsticks. Boys and their idiotic, alpha-male gaucherie - that's something that was likely to never change.

Minerva sighed. She was very much done with questions at that moment, in dire need of a bath and a cat nap. "I think it'd be better if Mister Malfoy were to enlighten you. Come to think of it, he wanted me to ask you if you wouldn't mind, after breakfast paying him a visit in the Courtyard. It is after breakfast now and I am most certain he'll be there waiting for you."

Hermione felt as if she should have been told all of this sooner and tried not to act appalled from how shocking the nerve-wracking new information was to her. All she could muster was a solemn, "Thank you Professor, I'll see you after lunch." and strode with determination back down the staircase and towards the indoor-outdoor study gardens.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

_The Courtyard_

Meanwhile, Slytherin's Prince was sitting on one of the many marble-stone benches that adorned the surrounded, open-air, grassy patio. His ribs were graciously mended, the cuts and slits on his face were healed right up and nothing had left any noticeable scars unlike the gash he'd took to his eyebrow the summer before fifth year… that one time Lucius lost his senses. His father went temporarily bat-shit mad, although Draco suspected the Malfoy senior had already been insane for far longer. The man had beaten him and tortured him with the Cruciatus Curse for almost an entire day. Fortuitously, his dear mother Narcissa discovered what was going on and intervened. Lucius had got one more good punch in using his closed fist - his big, gaudy serpent ring careening into him bluntly, yet sharp enough to leave an enormous, bleeding indent.

Even though from the outside his present injuries were invisible, on the inside Draco was hurting. At least Pomfrey blessed him with some soothing Butterfly Weed Balm in which he'd liberally smoothed over his sore spots. She'd also given him his own supply to keep for reapplication later. What's more, before he traversed down to the Courtyard he was lucky enough to gulp down three shooters of Ogden's, relieving more of the pain and it was ever so satisfying because he was buzzed now. He peered up to the blue-grey sky and took a deep breath. The crisp, pleasant atmosphere from the mossy-green vastness of the Highlands felt so wonderful; it was almost easy to forget his hardships, almost as if it cleansed him. He was in quite a daze but acknowledged he was beside his favorite tree so he went to it, climbing up onto one of the leafy limbs as he'd done on numerous occasions. Hopefully Granger would be coming by and from a higher place he should be able to witness her first emergence.

Oh but  _sweet_  Salazar, he was incredibly knackered from that night's events and hadn't even realized when he dozed off right there on the low-hanging branch, comfortable in his tree. Just like quicksand, his conscious was pulled into his own personal dreamland - an arousing place made up mostly of torturous, sexual fantasies.

Minutes later, Gryffindor's Princess ambled hesitantly through the large archways and columns, not feeling as brave as she felt moments ago. She was nervous at how badly a condition she'd find the silver-haired Prefect in… and despite finally being able to get some answers, was scared to learn what those answers might be.

And yet as she drove herself deeper, beyond several tables and benches through the flourishing thicket Hermione couldn't see him anywhere. It gave her a tiny fright at first, thinking she'd been misled again so she was very grateful when she spotted his unmistakably pale physique perched idly in one of the Ash trees which had, over the years grown naturally in the wide expanse of the verdant yard. Right away she recognized the sheer pricelessness of the candid sight before her.

People, magical and muggle, took naps here and there all the time, it was true. The straight-forward act of "catching some Z's" or plopping down to take a temporary snooze was a common ritual as well as human prerogative – but to be granted with an up-close, intimate glimpse of such a mystifying person like Draco Malfoy while they slept soundly felt special, felt rare. She observed the snake, wholly intrigued by his sleeping form and happy that he didn't seem  _too_  roughed up from what she could see but like McGonagall told her - he'd been taken care of. Even so, Hermione imagined he was probably still in some pain depending on the damage.

Like a deadly avalanche, the gnawing, steadfast hunger of impatience was snowballing within her. His stationary, sedated visage was extremely vexing to Hermione, for she reasoned while she stood there staring and chewing her lips, that his calm contentedness was the prime opposite of her panic and angst.

To curl up on a tree limb and pass out like that, the ferret-boy had to be immensely tired from what transpired. Evidently he needed rest and disturbing him seemed cruel but she had to if she wanted to clear the fog between them.

It was no use though; she couldn't attempt to wake the Prince from his peaceful slumber, couldn't even tear her gaze away. His expression was that of utter tranquility, contrasting harshly with the turmoil swelling up her brain. He looked so soft to the touch - and he wasn't unreachable at all. He was close enough to the ground still that she'd have no trouble placing her hand on him, if she could only manifest the courage to do so. She watched the slow rise and fall of his belly and chest as he sat there, his legs resting against the wide inner trunk, bent at the knee. His arms were crisscrossed cozily over his upper abdomen and his head was lolling back, settled into the huge limb behind him. Little puffs of air blew from between his lips, his eyelids dancing with a dream.

Draco's heavenly skin really was the most pure snow-white, almost opalescent with the indigo-blue blood pumping through his veins. One vein in particular caught her attention, protruding from his neck - a result of high stress she guessed. Obviously he'd been unable to relax as of late, it was plain as day. He looked shot-out, certainly from a lack of decent sleep. His shiny, silvery tresses were in a mussed mess but ruffled up at the front in that sort of roguish way that Hermione preferred on him. Also there were dark splotches circling under his eyes and despite how worn he looked Draco still managed to be undeniably alluring.

She was positively  _transfixed_  - bewitched by a wizard.

What was she going to do to wake him? 'Snap out of it you dimwit,' she mentally scolded herself. She'd indulged in her reverie and it was time to get it together.

"Malfoy?" the Head Girl tried his name but he wasn't stirring so she repeated it louder. "Hello, Malfoy? Hmm…" she patted him on his bicep twice and at the second contact his hand instinctively snapped out from underneath his arms, grasping tightly around her tiny wrist and digging in with his fingers. His icicle-blue eyes had cracked open, darting to his attacker with a vengeance but to Hermione's horror he didn't even see her - he saw an enemy. Mildly terrified she squealed out, desperately trying to pry her wrist from his grip. He pulled back his fist as if he was going to strike her but still she called to him. "Dra-Draco it's me, it's Hermione Granger!"

Immediately he froze, stopping himself. Miraculously the veil over him was lifted as he came to his senses. "Grr-Granger…?" he croaked, releasing her from his vice-like grip and then rubbed the sleep from his face, careful of the soreness that had spread throughout. "Ung… sorry, I-I didn't mean to nod off like that," He sat up where he was, clearing his throat and twisting his neck with an alleviating crunch.

"It's okay, re-really it's - it's quite alright," she stumbled a little over her words but took some steady breaths, her mild fright from the encounter gradually dissipating. She smiled warmly and helped him down to the ground - his hand in hers. He groaned, wincing in agony as he took the leap, landing on his feet and rubbing his torso. "Honestly,  _should_  you have been way up in a tree like that in your condition?" she chided him, a motherly sass to her tone. " _No_ , clearly not from the looks of it," she gestured to his haggard, exhausted appearance. "And have you gotten any real sleep? I'm guessing  _no_ , seeing as how you passed out eight feet above the bloody ground,"

Although still grimacing and clutching at his side the ever-playful snake was in the mood to shock and awe her. Draco wanted a hold on her attention, especially since their arranged get together in the lounge had been foiled. He sighed and with great conviction he stated, "You really do  _love_  answering even your  _own_  questions, Granger - always such a damn know-it-all - and before that kind of thing just meant you were an irritating little swot, a swot I loved to hate but now, all of a sudden… I cannot deny it - I find you  _incredibly_  endearing."

The Malfoy heir was smug, feeling proud he'd been bold enough to say what he did. His smirk widened, relishing in her shy but disgruntled reaction. Merlin, she was  _adorable_. He loved the two braids she'd decided to style her hair in for the day. Out of the blue the wind picked up, rustling about the greenish-yellow leaves of the lush, tall tree they were under and her long, chestnut-caramel plaits went flying around her in a rush. Draco noted that this captivating, wind-blown visual of Hermione there in front of him was portrait-perfect. She was practically glowing in the gentle sun and he wished the divine scene could be an addition to his collection. He swore to never forget it, internally burning the image to his brain.

His original question about Granger lingered within – Would he ever find out if she was the same, curly-haired vixen from his favorite painting? To him they looked identical… had she actually posed as the artist's muse?

Hermione's heartbeat thudded against her ribcage without mercy, as if she were some timid doe stuck in the woods, paralyzed by fear - losing a staring contest with the hunter. The pressure was on; her face and neck were roasting hot and she was unable to articulate any words. She'd opened her mouth trying to speak but closed it… struggling for a second time but closed it again. It was too much - his intense, rain-storm stare was boring into her as if he was memorizing this moment to save for later. After what he'd so freely admitted she'd never felt more bashful but seeing the pink stains saturating his ivory cheeks helped her feel better about her own deepening flush. Hopefully it meant he was nervous as well.

The clean, misty essence woven in the brisk breeze brought with it a foreshadowing of the fast-approaching autumn and it sent a chill running down their backs.

Regaining a semblance of serenity she was able to recall the dire need to get down to business… ahem  _no_ , not the naughty sort of business - the official reason for why she'd come. She had to find out what happened last night; why he never made it to the Prefect's Lounge and why he and Cormac McLaggen had apparently been missing.

"What happened last night? Everyone is beside themselves," she questioned, not verbalizing any response to his arousing but strange compliment on purpose. Draco was a good sport and took the loss with dignity.

"They  _are_?" he asked and she nodded fervently. "Does that mean  _you've_  been beside yourself Granger? Sick with worry, concerned of my whereabouts?" The Prince of Slytherin was behaving in a theatrical manner. Hermione scoffed.

"Please – do not get carried away," she rolled her eyes and gave him a haughty stance, jutting out her hip and crossing her forearms in defense. "You want the truth?" Should she lie? "You hadn't shown up to the lounge, no big deal I just left. No bother," She lied. There was no way she could tell him how devastated she'd been. "This morning I walked into breakfast and the paranoid, angry and confused auras emitting from everyone in the Great Hall was all consuming. Needless to say, after eating I had to get out of there." Draco listened to her intently, resting beside the tree trunk. "Then your friend Pansy Parkinson caught up to me, demanding I tell her what I know. I told her nothing, which is true. I know nothing…" she was starting to ramble. Did he get it yet? Didn't he understand? She was  _dying_  to know the details.

"Of  _course_  she did," he lamented, referring to his Slytherin comrade. "Sorry about her, she's rather protective over me since… well since the beginning. I'm certain you relate because of Potter and all,"

"That I do but there's no need to apologize for her, its fine. I can handle Parkinson - merely child's play, she is." Hermione stated with a smirk and Draco harrumphed in amusement.

"I admire the confidence kitten. She  _is_  relatively harmless… well, for the most part. Still, I recommend proceeding with caution when it comes to girls like Pansy. Wouldn't want to set her off, the cloddish harpy,  _trust_  me," the exasperated sincerity in his expression told her there'd already been plenty of traumatizing spectacles in the past from triggering said harpy. "Best to leave the she-beast unprovoked in my experience," Hermione kept giggling, entertained from his trash-talk and the ambrosial sounds of her joviality had him feeling light as a feather, thrilled to be spending time with her one-on-one.

'Kitten, eh?' she'd thought. There was that pet name again, spoken in English now instead of French. "I'm not surprised - over the years I've heard  _all_  about the ungainly drama that follows her everywhere," she replied, fidgeting impatiently with the zipper of her sweatshirt. "But anyway, McGonagall met with me right after that, told me there'd been a terrible situation but that you would enlighten me, here in the Courtyard." Hermione tapped her foot expectantly for added effect. "Well…?" She couldn't stand to waste one more minute in ignorance.

Draco massaged the back of his tender skull where McLaggen had roughly slammed it into the wood floor. "Ah, okay. I think we'd better sit you down for this," he nodded to the marble bench. "Come Granger, you aren't going to like what I have to say but you have more a right to know than anyone." He led her over to the stone structure where she sat down primly, setting her hands in her lap. The blonde Slytherin took a seat directly next to her. He turned toward her, definitely not caring at all that his leg accidentally grazed against hers and was entirely unfazed when it stayed where it was, pressing gingerly into the warmth of her body. "Let's see… so there I was, hastily finishing up rounds with Davis - ugh, last night was  _impossible_ , Granger really. Damn the senseless little pricks, all of them. I'll tell you more about it later. I just need you to understand that I totally blame the commitments I have as Prefect for me being late to our meeting in the first place," Hermione blinked up at him as she listened, understanding where he was coming from. "I tried what I could to speed things up, truly but it was one problem after another and I had to see it through. Actually Head Girl, I think you'd have been proud if you'd seen me in action. I was something like a law enforcement officer, on patrol weeding out the bad apples!" he stayed seated but feistily jabbed at the nothingness in front of him, quick and agile as if he'd taken on the identity of a boxing champion.

Bemused, the Gryffindor Princess quirked an eyebrow, positive he would do well as an actor in a grand theatre performing plays – the sexy ferret had a knack for melodramatics. "I'm sure I would have. You're an excellent leader Malfoy, when you want to be. Dare I say you've been blessed with an authoritative tongue?" She chuckled, mirth sparkling in her eyes. Draco grinned like a devil with a secret. He situated himself closer, merging his arm to hers.

"Oh?" he challenged, then impishly clicked the aforementioned muscle inside his mouth. In one languid motion he tilted his face towards the bare area of her collarbone, startling her slightly. He nuzzled into her neck and his eyes rolled back in ecstasy, deeply inhaling her essence. His breath sensuously caressed over her as he let the tip of his nose glide against her sensitive jugular teasingly. He whispered along, his voice gruff with lust and it took all he had to be respectful and keep his hands to himself. "I'll have you know; my tongue is blessed with  _so_  much more than just authority, Miss Granger." His lips lingered dangerously nearer to her supple skin and he felt the twitching of his semi-erect cock rubbing against the inside of his black twill pants. Thank Salazar he'd changed out of his loungewear. If he hadn't of he'd be in for a different kind of trouble.

Instantly, the peach-fuzz across Hermione's entire body stood on end, cool and tingly from the sensations... but hot, so hot. That scorched yearning she'd abandoned last night once again broiled like lava inside her as if it were a temporarily dormant volcano, reawakened and erupting with magma that seared through her engorged, aching core unforgivingly. She almost moaned out-loud as she felt the familiar, wet warmth slickening between her thighs. Gods, how could one boy turn her on this much? Squirming under his breathy ministrations, she reasoned that she couldn't let him figure out what he did to her, how he'd been affecting her. Hermione didn't want him to have that knowledge, wouldn't give away her control so easily. With valiance she closed her eyes and turned away, pretending what he'd done and said hadn't stimulated her so considerably.

"I still haven't learned why you were missing," she seethed, attempting to get the ball back in her court. He inched away a bit, sensing her inner petulance. "Or why you're hurt. Explain please,"

Draco was chortling. "Easy now princess, it's really not the easiest thing to just... spit out."

Hermione wanted to explode, could have burst into flames from spontaneous combustion. "Just  _tell_  me, Malfoy  _please_ ," she wailed pitifully, sounding sour and bratty – to behave so childishly was not at all something you'd find written in the Hermione Granger's Life Manual and Rulebook, so to speak. It simply was not her way but she'd noticed her usual spirit slowly crumbling.

Draco felt bad for prolonging her suffering. With a shake of his head he said, "Okay then, Cormac McLaggen is obsessed with you."

Hermione rolled her eyes so enthusiastically she'd thought they were to pop right out of her head. " _Really_ , tell me something I don't know, would you?" Draco tapped his chin in contemplation.

"What  _do_  you know, Granger? Precisely..?"

She instantly gave him a look that said she wanted to decapitate him. Why was  _he_  doing the asking? "Uh… well, Cormac is… obsessed, just like you said. I always catch him staring at me during classes and in the common room. It's sort of like… he's always there, always giving me the creeps. He  _is_  a creep after all. The sideways comments sexually charged or otherwise always gave me a feeling… and he occasionally touched me - here on the shoulder, there on the waist. I glare at him and I always almost say something to him to tell him to stop but his advances last for only a second and nobody ever notices. I can barely tell if it even happened at all. Ugh, I felt so vulnerable like I couldn't do anything about it. That seems so stupid now."

The princely Slytherin sighed, agonized over having to divulge to her the worst-case scenario. "He's… manipulated you, confined you to a mind-set that made you feel alone - making you feel like there was no one to help.  _Hermione_ …" he breathed her name softly and she whipped around to face him, taken aback by his first use of it. His silver eyes gleamed with compassion and a kindness she had never thought she'd see in Draco Malfoy. "McLaggen's been after you for a while… it's unfathomable, really. We were all so innocent then and he… he was not."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"He's a sociopath, been so since day one. No doubts about it."

"Okay… but how do you know all this?"

"Last night, as I bounded through the corridors to meet you he subdued me with the Conjunctivitis and Jelly-Fingers Curses then pushed me in an empty classroom and proceeded to beat me. Buffoon that he is, McLaggen actually managed to get me pretty good." He rolled his shoulder with a small crack.

"Oh good Godric… I knew it," she exclaimed. Her nurturing, motherly instincts kicked back in as she suddenly found herself lightly grabbing his arm, the material of his grey thermal clutched between her fingers. "I had a feeling he'd come after you. I just had no idea it'd be so quickly," she told him, her cheeks further reddening and she let him go, embarrassed.

Now Draco was rolling his eyes. "Please - the fact that he's built bigger means nothing, not when you're dueling against a  _Malfoy_ …" he trailed off. Hermione felt slightly sickened for it was obvious he meant it was because the Malfoy's had knowledge of Dark Magic. She'd let that slide though. At the time, Draco was defending himself the only way he knew how to. "Despite my blindness, I was still able to sift through his mind using Legilimency. I simply placed my hand - which was normal again after a few minutes - atop his temple and it worked. I am after all, an inherently skilled Occlumens  _and_  Legilimens."

"Are you  _really_? I had no idea," she replied but the fact he'd learned both somehow made sense to her now. "Truly impressive,"

"Thanks," he said.

"But…"

"But…?"

"You don't like, read people's thoughts and feelings for fun or anything, do you?"

The Slytherin Prefect was appalled at her insinuation. He was not the bad guy here. " _No_  of course not Head Girl," he responded, flabbergasted. "It figures you'd ask that." It was then he decided it was probably a good idea to withhold that he'd casted the Asphyxiation Curse on Cormac as well, so he locked that up and threw away the key.

"I'm sorry… I just had to be sure."

"Its fine kitten, I understand. You  _should_  be cautious, no matter what. No one can be trusted," he told her. Very gently he placed his larger hand on hers and swallowed thickly, willing away his nervousness. He gazed into her amber-gold eyes with genuine determination. "I could  _never_  hurt you though," he gestured to his heart with the hand that wasn't wrapped around her palm. "What I felt inside that evil nutter's head, it just… was not right. I couldn't stand to see anything happen to you," Hermione almost gasped - from his words and from when he reached up to brush his fingertips gingerly over her face above her eyebrow and down… all the way down to her jawline ever so delicately. "That is why I've gotten McLaggen expelled. There's something within me that wants to protect you, keep you safe."

"You- you did? He's expelled?" she questioned him, stunned at that information but more stunned by his emotional confession.

"Absolutely, he's a danger to society but mostly to you. Snape agreed with me - especially once he'd had a look for himself - that McLaggen's mind is a pedophiliac cesspool of sadistic and malicious thoughts. Eventually he wanted to  _take_  you Hermione. No matter how or when, the prick was going to find a way. He had his own list of random, abandoned places throughout Great Britain where he knew he could lock you away. You'd have been his slave and I wouldn't let that happen."

"Draco, you… you really wanted to-" Hermione thought she might faint, so overcome by his gallant deeds as well as McLaggen's true nature having come to light. Twenty million more questions blazed through her.

" _Yes_ ," he hissed, still grasping her hand and he placed his other one on her neck, leaning his forehead to hers.

"I… I don't know what to say," she felt like she could cry, the release of all her previous frustrations approaching fast. "Thank you," they peered into each other's eyes.

"I don't want a thank you Granger, I just want…" he finally let go of his hold on her hand and brought it up to her chin, tenderly smoothing his thumb across her plush bottom lip while he subtly glossed his fingers along her ear. She leaned into his touches, letting out a breathy moan. "Damnit, I just want  _you_."

Wetting his dry lips he deftly brushed his mouth against hers and no sooner than he had he'd pulled away, having felt a certain spark that surprised him quite a bit. He breathed heavily, gauging her reaction - it seemed she'd felt exactly as he had and also wanted more. Again he dipped forward and they closed their eyes, melding their mouths together in a burning bond. Hermione brought her hands to graze his lean yet broad chest and he wrapped a strong, lengthy Seeker's arm around her middle, embracing her closer.

It was unlike any other kiss either of them had before. Inside them, a heightening of wanton desire incessantly tingled, beginning from their tailbones and shooting up their spines. It ignited an eagerness which begged to tell of a several years-long infatuation that they'd always pretended did not exist, always ignored, denied. So much pent up sexual tension, so much pressure from an entire adolescence spent loathing each other, detesting one another. That was all wasted energy, when the whole time they could have been doing something much more productive and  _satisfying_.

Draco swept his tongue through Hermione's welcoming lips. "Mmm…" he hummed, vibrating with want as he greeted her tongue with his and they mashed their wet mouths in earnest. She had one hand caught up in his warm jumper, another making its way to the base of his neck and twining his silver-blonde tresses in her fingers. He let his own fingers glide down and circle lightly over the small of her back. She moaned again. Gods, he could get used to that.

They'd continued snogging; it wasn't certain for how long. Time seemed to freeze during their mystifying connection. They had become completely unaware of the world that they had left behind and was still around them. He was nibbling on her bottom lip but when he pressed his mouth fully into her once more he then reluctantly let her go. Their eyes fluttered open, peering into each other.

"Your kisses are magnificent Granger," he spoke gruffly, lust-driven. "Surely you must do me the honor of spending more time with you,"

"I uh- yes… yes, surely I m-must." Hermione stuttered, a hazy expression adorning her features. "I was going to go on a walk later, after I'd studied. Um, it's too late for that now so how about - following my meeting with McGonagall after lunch -  we go on a nice scenic walk along the grounds? I don't know, I have to get out of this castle."

"What if I took you on a nice, proper date then? We'll go anywhere you'd like,"

Hermione snickered. "Well, it's not like we can really go  _anywhere_ , unless you're suggesting we should actually Apparate from the Apparition point in Hogsmeade. We are not going to be allowed, Malfoy. Especially not with what just happened,"

"We don't have to get anyone's permission," he stated like it was a fact. "I really could care less if it's not allowed, Head Girl. We should  _live_   _a little_. Just break those rules you have for once Granger. You  _used_  to get up to trouble with Pothead and Weaslebee  _all_  the time, if I'm not mistaken - and probably schemes I had no idea about. Honestly, let's have some fun. I want to take you somewhere special, somewhere beautiful. We could make up a grand lie and McGonagall and Dumbledore will forgive us immediately after everything we've just went through. What do you say?"

At first Hermione wanted to say no, tell him that it was a ridiculous notion and they should both get back to their studies. They could always go on a date later; he was making it seem like the end of the world was nigh and they should be running away together… but it was incredibly intriguing, the thought of it. Ooh, she really wanted to go. Ruminating on the idea, she bit at her lips anxiously and then made a decision.

"Fine," she agreed through gritted teeth. "But  _you're_  the one coming up with the lie and it  _better_  be good."

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 **AN** : There we go, end of chapter five! Where will Hermione want to go for their proper date? I honestly haven't decided yet. Are there any thoughts from my readers? Where would you like to see Draco and Hermione go that isn't the typical Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley? I'm thinking a completely different country! Which one though? Cheers to all of you! :0) 


	6. Chapter 6

**AN** : So this chapter is a shorty, which I apologize for. Only made it to six pages and those of you who are used to my writing know that I tend to shoot for roughly 6000-7000 words a chapter. I really wanted to add a lot more but I also desperately needed to update for you all. Something is better than nothing, yes? Happy reading and cheers to you!

 **She’s A Work of Art**  
**Chapter Six**  
-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

_Hogwarts Castle, Gryffindor Common Room - September 7 th, 1997_

After her wildly intriguing exchange with Draco in the Courtyard, Hermione practically skipped back up to Gryffindor Tower to prepare for their brief and risky trip, as well as attempt to get some of her school work done in her bedchambers instead of the library.

Yet, when she walked into the Common Room there was Harry, Ron, Ginny and Neville. Oh shite. Was this to be some sort of _intervention_? The energy in the air was crackling with discontented panic.

“Whatever is the matter with you all?” she questioned exasperatedly. She figured that as much as she tried to avoid it, she knew this was coming and might as well get on with it.

Ginevra stepped forward first. She knew a little more than the boys did about Hermione and Draco’s interest in each other and with her nurturing instinct would comfort Hermione best in this situation. “Well… ‘Mione, just know that we _love_ you and are _here_ for you no matter what,”

 _Oh_ _bollocks_ , Hermione thought. This was dreadful.

“We just want to ask a couple of questions…” Harry said quickly. “There’s so many rumors going around my head is swirling,” he made a show of palming and rubbing around his messy onyx mop.

“You’ve clearly been asking all the wrong people Harry,” Hermione chided lightly and tried to make a break for it to the staircase. Unfortunately, her efforts were futile as Ginny immediately blocked her from the route, stepping in between the archway with her hands at the edge of the stone walls. The lionhearted boys were right behind her, creating a barricade on both sides of the entrance to the stairwell. Hermione contained herself as the inner turmoil reticulated through her bloodstream. “Even _you_ , Ginevra?” she groaned woefully, theatrically. Hermione was being cornered and assassinated by her best girl-mate, like when Brutus the Younger along with the other members of the counsel betrayed Julius Caesar in the play by William Shakespeare.

The youngest Weasley only shook her head sheepishly, feeling very sorry for the Head Girl but Harry and Ron wouldn’t leave her alone about it and now Neville was involved… Hogwarts wasn’t the easiest place to keep secrets at and eventually, Hermione would have to fess up to her best friends anyway. It would hurt their relationships further wouldn’t it, for her to stay withholding her troubles and keeping her mates guessing? Hermione _was_ in some sort of calamity, wasn’t she? She might really need their help and just not realize it, seeing how independent she was.

“Considering you haven’t allowed me to talk to _you_ about anything directly,” Harry began and the sass in his tone was evident. “I’ve been forced to get my information from the snakes,”

Hermione’s eyes rolled over to the back of her skull in pure annoyance. “Oh really…? Fine then, ask away.” She clipped, ready to get it over with.

“I caught up with Davis, Zabini, Greengrass and Nott right after breakfast,” Harry stated. “They said quite a few things but mostly they just let on that you and _Malfoy_ … well, there’s something going on between you two - _big time_ \- and honestly I’m not surprised after what I saw at Scrivenshaft’s yesterday.”

“You know what, Harry?” Hermione seethed, her teeth clenched angrily. “I can understand your concern but...” she stopped. She’d been about to tell him it was none of his business, but that wouldn’t have been right considering she’s always made it _her_ business to help Harry in his love-life. “I-I shouldn’t have to feel so bad about this, should I? I’m telling you, he’s… he’s _different_ now.”

“In what way, exactly…?” Ron finally peeped. “I don’t understand,”

“Yes, please help us to understand Hermione,” Neville offered supportively.

Hermione took a calming breath. “Yesterday at the Three Broomsticks, Cormac McLaggen threatened Malfoy, saying he’d pay for hitting him in the face, even though Cormac was _harassing_ me. Then - last night - McLaggen blindsided Malfoy with some curses and violently assaulted him in an empty classroom, but Malfoy was more skilled than him a-and he was able to peruse his memories with Legilimency. It turns out that Cormac has been _much_ more than just obsessed with me. Since first-year he’d had his eye on me and had all these pla-plans to take me away and,” she swallowed, finding it terribly difficult to say it out-loud. “...make me his slave.” Hermione exhumed meekly and they all made moves like doubling over in shock and gasping in petrified disgust. “Apparently he had all these abandoned places mapped out across England where he could keep me hidden,”

“ _Where is he_?” Harry bellowed as he rolled up his shirt sleeves almost comically and before the rest of them could make any raucous comments Hermione held her hands up to stop them.

“Gratefully, McLaggen’s been expelled,” she relayed and their eyes widened from the news. “He’s been taken to St. Mungo’s for further testing and therapy, where hopefully they can save him from himself. I’m not positive if he’ll be able to get out or when but he will be forever charged as a sexual offender I’m sure,”

“ _Bloody_ _hell_ ,” Ron swore.

“Good,” Harry said warmly, the relief settling over his shoulders.

“ _That’s_ excellent news,” Ginevra breathed.

“Yes, yes it is. This all happened under my nose too. I had no idea Cormac would attack Malfoy in the very same day. Malfoy’s alright now by the way - if you lot cared at _all_ about the one who _saved_ me from such a brutal fate,” she didn’t let them respond to that and barreled onward. “He went to McGonagall and Snape right away, where they took it upon themselves to take care of the problem. I have yet to speak with McGonagall about the details but we’ve arranged to meet following lunch,”

“So… what you’re saying is true, then? Malfoy really did…?” Ron stammered, unable to fathom that yes, indeed the Head Girl was telling the truth: a total shocker, apparently.

“I just can’t believe Malfoy actually had it in him to do something like this,” Harry lamented almost angrily.

“Why don’t you go ask him for yourself then? I have a lot to catch up on now and I need some time to myself, so I’ll be popping up to my room, if you please. I’ll talk to you more later on, okay?”

Ginny let her pass by without another word out of them. At least they found out the Head Girl’s truth of it.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

_The Entrance Hall_

“Hey Malfoy,”

Draco - who was on his own, walking towards the Great Hall - stopped in his tracks and turned towards the voice behind him calling his name. It was Harry Potter, beloved King of Gryffindor. “Can I help you, Pothead?” the Slytherin asked, at that moment unsure where a conversation with the Boy Who Lived would go.

Harry frowned, perturbed at himself for choosing to be in the presence of his arch nemesis to begin with but he’d come to Draco with a point to make. “Hermione told us what happened w-with McLaggen and I just wanted to…” he paused, thinking something over for a second and then stuck his hand out, a gesture of goodwill. Draco quirked a silver brow, bewildered at the insinuation. “Thank you… so much f-for what you did. You’ve truly impressed me.”

At first instinct, the Prince of Slytherin wanted to snicker, or smack his hand away and claim this was a trick… but Harry’s emerald eyes shone with such a sincerity it struck him off guard and the Gryffindor’s raised arm quivered as it lingered, just as Draco’s had so many years ago when they were eleven. This was _symbolic_ and mirrored that time on the very first day they came to Hogwarts. They both knew what this meant.

Snatching his palm up in his own, Draco shook him in a firm, friendly grip. “All in a night’s work,” he told him, tipping his head toward him in acknowledgement and then let him go. “I know it may have come as a bit of a shock, but some of us Slytherins aren’t all bad you know. I only did what was _right_ but either way, if it’s in my power I’d do whatever I could t-to protect her,”

“ _Why_?” Harry queried, confused. “You never cared for her before,”

“Excellent observation Potter,” he responded, purely snarky. “I care _now_ , so.”  
  
“Alright, but it’s just a little strange that out of nowhere you come running. I mean, you’re _you_ ,” Harry reiterated. “And let me tell you something,” he got himself closer to Draco’s face even though the snake was comparably taller. “Sure, I’m forever grateful but I don’t care how many times you might be there for her Malfoy - you hurt her _once_ ,” he held up a finger to display the number one. “You’re fucking dead, got that?”

Draco chuckled under his breath, mildly irate about Harry’s threat but also completely entertained. “Loud and clear Potter,” he replied, a twinkle in his eye. “Rest assured - you have nothing to worry about. I’d like to properly court her, after all.”

“Y-You what…?”

“See you around,” he was smirking as he turned back towards the door to the Great Hall. It was lunch time and he wanted to keep _some_ of his secrets. Draco hadn’t exactly _planned_ to declare that he wanted to court Granger. It sort of slipped out in the wake of Harry’s violent countenance but that wasn’t to say he didn’t mean it.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

_The Owlery_

Hermione arrived at the meeting place they’d discussed prior in the Courtyard but this time Draco was waiting for her, punctual as ever. It was a huge relief to see him standing there in the mist, with his back resting against the cobbled walls of the tower and a sly smirk on his lips. After talking with McGonagall in her office, Hermione was told there was a Magical Restraining Order on McLaggen, meaning he was now forbidden to contact her and was also unable to be in her vicinity within a half-kilometer depending on the circumstance. This was hugely alleviating to know, after what she’d had to come to grips with.

Still, after bidding adieu to her beloved Transfiguration professor Hermione was feeling a bit guilty that she was about to run off for the evening with Draco. They really weren’t allowed to be doing something like this and she wasn’t sure they’d actually get away with it either. So here she was, to be the voice of reason and even though she had packed a small bag and brought it with her - just in case - she was planning on talking him out of it.

And yes, she was wearing the lilac-lavender blue dress underneath her cloak but she had it transfigured to look like her uniform. If they went on their trip, she’d undo the disguise. Hermione had twined the front of her locks in tiny braids across her head and into a half-bun at the back of her head, letting the rest of her long brunette curls down her back. It was roughly similar to the tribal-like styles she’d worn all summer and if they were to go anywhere, she really wanted to show him a piece of the person she became by bringing him to Greece.

“Hello there gorgeous,” Draco greeted softly.

“Hello,” she returned, suddenly so shy because she was reliving in her mind the feeling of his sweet, meticulous kisses while they’d sat there on that bench after breakfast. My, oh _my_ \- that particular bench would forever remain as the place where she and Malfoy first snogged. His titanium-orbs glinted, puzzled as he examined her bashful expression.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her. She hadn’t shown up to lunch so he’d been wondering if she was alright anyway. He also felt slightly nervous after what he’d said to Potter about courting her. Did Potter get the chance to tell her about that? What if she didn’t even want him to court her? Maybe she was only meeting him here to tell him she’d changed her mind. “Do you not want to…?” he trailed off. Twenty different scenarios played itself out in Draco’s mind before she finally answered.

“I’m just… I-I don’t know Malfoy,” she stammered and then leaned in near to whisper. “I really don’t think this is such a good idea anymore. We’re risking a lot, aren’t we?”

“What like detention and a brief, stern talking-to? Granger, that’s if we even get caught! As long as we’re back by ten, we’ll be solid gold.”

“Is that so?” she questioned, a small smile on her lips. “Yet, we all know you’ve had your fair share of bad ideas. Need I remind you of third year? You were at your _worst_. The whole time you were just up to no good. And it never did work out for you did it, what with _Buckbeak_ and all?” Draco snickered, rolling his eyes.

“Look here,” he stepped closer, surprising her as he unexpectedly began running his digits over her long, coffee-brown tendrils and taking a calming breath through his nose. “The only bad ideas are the ones where we’re not living in the moment,” Hermione was absolutely stupefied from his reserved wisdom. “Well, within reason but surely this is a pretty reasonable thing to do,”

“I’m sorry but _when_ did you become this person exactly? And why haven’t I seen nary a glimpse of it until now?” she ordered and he laughed warmly, yet he could not really tell her the truth, could he? Could he actually be honest and say he had an extra-large painting across his bed where the subject was a delectable nymph who looked _precisely_ like her? Could he tell her that when he saw Hermione in the South Suite, completely mesmerized by her beauty he for a second believed it was really the same girl? She’d hate him again, wouldn’t she? She’d think his feelings weren’t genuine but that wasn’t true. He was sure that even if he hadn’t bought that portrait during the summer, he still would have been entirely taken with Granger on the train. He was also sure that he might have been attracted to the goddess in the portrait because subconsciously she reminded him of Granger. Still, he _was_ dying to know if she was the siren but in his quest to find out, she may end up loathing him for it.

“I don’t know, but…” he started, not completely certain where he was going. “Truth be told, the last few summers I-I’ve been evolving; mainly visiting one of my favorite villages in southern Spain. I collect... all different types o-of artwork. All Malfoy’s do… that is we prefer to be cultured, so somewhere along the way I guess I’ve changed.”

“ _Apparently_ ,” Hermione teased and then, “That’s very interesting because coincidentally, I felt that way as well the last couple of summers - mostly _this_ summer, which is why I want to take you to the lush and jagged, yet highly spiritual surroundings of the monasteries in Meteora.”

Draco thought on that a minute. “In Greece…?”

“Yes. Very good Malfoy,” she said. “Do riddle me this though: how do we sneak out of the grounds and to the Apparition point without anyone noticing?” Hermione was speaking so quietly Draco was straining his ears.

“Why are you talking so low, Granger? No one’s going to hear us, I already checked inside the Owl tower to find it empty and from here, we’d see if someone was coming.”

“I was indeed worried about that,” she replied. “Okay then, go on.”

“We cut through the Forest and out onto the road to Hogsmeade.”

“This is your plan? We have to make it past Hagrid’s hut to be able to get to the Forest…”

“We’ll be fine, don’t you trust me yet? I won’t get you into trouble,”

“Oh Draco Malfoy, trouble is the _only_ thing you’re going to get me into.”

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 **AN** : Once again, I’m so terribly sorry for the length of this chapter. This is very unlike me but I _had_ to update. I hope you enjoyed the sixth installment and keep a look out for the seventh coming soon *hugs*


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